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THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL

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TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

Chapter )♦

YOU must go back with me to the autumn of 1 827.

My father, as you know, was a sort of gentle-
man farmer in shire ; and I, by his express

desire, succeeded him in the same quiet occupation, not
very willingly, for ambition urged me to higher aims,
and self-conceit assured me that, in disregarding its
voice, I was burying my talent in the earth, and hiding
my light under a bushel. My mother had done her
utmost to persuade me that I was capable of great
achievements; but my father, who thought ambition
was the surest road to ruin, and change but another
word for destruction, would listen to no scheme for
bettering either my own condition, or that of my fellow
mortals. He assured me it was all rubbish, and ex-
horted me, with his dying breath, to continue in the
good old way, to follow his steps, and those of his
father before him, and let my highest ambition be, to
walk honestly through the world, looking neither to the
right hand nor to the left, and to transmit the paternal

2

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

acres to my children in, at least, as flourishing a con-

dition as he left them to me.

“Well ! — an hones^njij^^^ farmer is one of

benefit, not only my own immediate connections and
dependants, but, in some degree, mankind at large : —
hence I shall not have lived in vain.”

With such reflections as these, I was endeavouring
to console myself, as I plodded home from the fields,
one cold, damp, cloudy evening towards the close of
October. But the gleam of a bright red fire through
the parlour window had more effect in cheering my
spirits, and rebuking my thankless repinings, than all the
sage reflections and good resolutions I had forced my
mind to frame ; for I was young then, remember — only
four and twenty — and had not acquired half the rule
over my own spirit, that I now possess — trifling as that
may be.

However, that haven of bliss must not be entered till
I had exchanged my miry boots for a clean pair -of
shoes, and my rough surtout for a respectable coat, and
made myself generally presentable before decent society;
for my mother, with all her kindness, was vastly par-
ticular on certain points.

In ascending to my room, I was met upon the stairs
by a smart, pretty girl of nineteen, with a tidy, dumpy
figure, a round face, bright, blooming cheeks, glossy, | '
clustering curls, and little merry brown eyes. I need
not tell you this was my sister Rose. She is, I know,
a comely matron still, and, doubtless, no less lovely — in
your eyes — than on the happy day you first beheld her.
Nothing told me then, that she, a few years hence,
would be the wife of one entirely unknown to me as
yet, but destined, hereafter, to become a closer friend

“ Well ! — an honestjymi^ farmer is one of

the most useful members of society ; and if I devote
my talents to the cultivation of my farm, and the im-

provement of agriculture in general, I shall thereby

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL. 3

than even herself, more intimate than that unmannerly
lad of seventeen, by whom I was collared in the passage,
on coming down, and well-nigh jerked off my equili-
brium, and who, in correction for his impudence, received
a resounding whack over the sconce, which, however,
sustained no serious injury from the infliction ; as, be-
sides being more than commonly thick, it was protected
by a redundant shock of short, reddish curls, that my
mother called auburn.

On entering the parlour, we found that honoured
lady seated in her arm-chair at the fireside, working
away at her knitting, according to her usual custom,
when she had nothing else to do. She had swept the
hearth, and made a bright blazing fire for our reception;
the servant had just brought in the tea-tray ; and Rose
was producing the sugar-basin and tea-caddy, from the
cupboard in the black, oak sideboard, that shone like
polished ebony, in the cheerful parlour twilight.

“Well! here they both are,” cried my mother,
looking round upon us without retarding the motion of
her nimble fingers, and glittering needles. “ Now shut
the door, and come to the fire, while Rose gets the tea
ready ; I’m sure you must be starved and tell me
what you’ve been about all day ; — I like to know what
my children have been about.”

“ I’ve been breaking in the grey colt — no easy busi-
ness that — directing the ploughing of the last wdieat
stubble— for the ploughboy has not the sense to direct
himself — and carrying out a plan for the extensive and
efficient draining of the low meadow-lands.”

“That’s my brave boy!— and Fergus— what have
you been doing ? ”

“ Badger-baiting.”

And here he proceeded to give a particular account
of his sport, and the respective traits of prowess evinced
by the badger and the dogs ; my mother pretending to

!C l

4

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

listen with deep attention, and watching his animated j
countenance with a degree of maternal admiration I ;
thought highly disproportioned to its object.

64 It’s time you should be doing something else, \
Fergus,” said I, as soon as a momentary pause in his
narration allowed me to get in a word.

44 What can I do ? ” replied he ; “ my mother won’t
let me go to sea or enter the army ; and I’m determined
to do nothing else — except make myself such a nuis-
ance to you all, that you will be thankful to get rid
of me on any terms.”

Our parent soothingly stroked his stiff, short curls.
He growled, and tried to look sulky, and then we all
took our seats at the table, in obedience to the thrice-
repeated summons of Rose.

44 Now take your tea,” said she; 44 and I’ll tell you
what I’ve been doing. I’ve been to call on the
Wilsons ; and it’s a thousand pities you didn’t go with
me, Gilbert, for Eliza Millward was there ! ”

44 Well! what of her?”

44 Oh, nothing! — I’m not going to tell you about
her ; — only that she’s a nice, amusing little thing, when
she is in a merry humour, and I shouldn’t mind calling \
her ”

44 Hush, hush, my dear ! your brother has no such
idea ! ” whispered my mother earnestly, holding up her
finger.

44 Well,” resumed Rose ; “ I was going to tell you
an important piece of news I heard there — I’ve been
bursting with it ever since. You know it was reported ,
a month ago, that somebody was going to take Wild-
fell Hall— and— what do you think ? It has actually «
been inhabited above a week ! — and we never knew !

44 Impossible ! ” cried my mother.

44 Preposterous ! ! ! ” shrieked Fergus.

44 It has indeed !— and by a single lady ! ”

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL,

5

“ Good gracious, my dear ! The place is in
ruins ! ”

“ She has had two or three rooms made habitable ;
and there she lives, all alone — except an old woman for
a servant ! ”

“ Oh dear ! — that spoils it — I’d hoped she was a
witch,” observed Fergus, while carving his inch-thick
slice of bread and butter.

“ Nonsense, Fergus ! But isn’t it strange, mamma ? ”

“ Strange ! I can hardly believe it.”

“ But you may believe it ; for Jane Wilson has seen
her. She went with her mother, who, of course, when
she heard of a stranger being in the neighbourhood,
would be on pins and needles till she had seen her and
got all she could out of her. Sh^^^led JP^s

Graham, and she is in mourning — not widow’s weeds,
but slightish mourning — and she is quite young, they
say, — not above five or six and twenty, — but so re-
served ! They tried all they could to find out who she
was, and where she came from, and all about her,
but neither Mrs Wilson, with her pertinacious and im-
pertinent home-thrusts, nor Miss Wilson, with her
skilful manoeuvring, could manage to elicit a single
satisfactory answer, or even a casual remark, or chance
expression calculated to allay their curiosity, or throw
the faintest ray of light upon her history, circumstances,
or connections. Moreover, she was barely civil to
them, and evidently better pleased to say 4 good-bye,’
than * how do you do.’ But Eliza Millward says her
father intends to call upon her soon, to offer some
pastoral advice, which he fears she needs, as, though
she is known to have entered the neighbourhood early
last week, she did not make her appearance at church
on Sunday ; and she — Eliza, that is — will beg to
accompany him, and is sure she can succeed in
wheedling something out of her — you know, Gilbert,

6

THE TENANT OF W1LDFELL HALL.

she can do anything. And we should call some time,
mamma ; it’s only proper, you know.”

“ Of course, my dear. Poor thing ! how lonely she
must feel ! ”

“ And pray, be quick about it ; and mind you bring
me word how much sugar she puts in her tea, and what
sort of caps and aprons she wears, and all about it ; for
I don’t know how I can live till I know,” said Fergus,
very gravely.

But if he intended the speech to be hailed as a
master-stroke of wit, he signally failed, for nobody
laughed. However, he was not much disconcerted at
that ; for when he had taken a mouthful of bread and
butter, and was about to swallow a gulp of tea, the
humour of the thing burst upon him with such irresist-
ible force, that he was obliged to jump up from the
table, and rush snorting and choking from the room :
and a minute after, was heard screaming in fearful agony
in the garden.

As for me, I was hungry, and contented myself with
silently demolishing the tea, ham, and toast, while my
mother and sister went on talking, and continued to dis-
cuss the apparent or non-apparent circumstances, and
probable or improbable history of the mysterious lady ;
but I must confess that, after my brother’s misadventure
I once or twice raised the cup to my lips, and put it
down again without daring to taste the contents, lest I
should injure my dignity by a similar explosion.

The next day, my mother and Rose hastened to pay
their compliments to the fair recluse ; and came back
but little wiser than they went ; though my mother
declared she did not regret the journey, for if she had
not gained much good, she flattered herself she had im-
parted some, and that was better : she had given some
useful advice, which, she hoped, would not be thrown
away ; for fylra Graham, though she said little to any

<

i

■i

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALE.

7

purpose, and appeared somewhat self-opinionated, seemed
not incapable of reflection, — though she did not know
where she had been all her life, poor thing, for she be-
trayed a lamentable ignorance on certain points, and had
not even the sense to be ashamed of it.

“On what points, mother ? ” asked I.

“ On household matters, and all the little niceties of
cookery, and such things, that every lady ought to be
familiar with, whether she be reapired to make a practical
use of her knowledge or not. kL gave her some useful
pieces of information, however, and several excellent
receipts, the value of ^jvhich she evidently could not ap-
preciate, for she beggecf\I would not trouble myself, as
she lived in such a plain, quiet way, that she was sure
she should never make use of them. 4 No matter, my
dear/ said I ; 4 it is what every respectable female ought W ^
to know ; — and besides, though you are atone now, you
wilt not be always so ; you have been married, and pro- ^
bably — I might say almost certainly — will be again.’

‘You are mistaken there, ma’am/ said she, almost \ ^
haughtily ; ‘ I am certain I never shall.’ — But I told
her I knew better.” ^ # ^

« Some romantic young widow, I suppose,” said I,

“ come there to end her days in solitude, and mourn
in secret for the dear departed — but it won’t last
long.”

“ No, I think not,” observed Rose ; “ for she didn t
seem very disconsolate after all ; and she s excessively
pretty — handsome rather — you must see her, Gilbert ;
you "will call her a perfect beauty, though you could
hardly pretend to discover a resemblance between her
and ElizaJdillward.”

“Well, I can imagine many faces more beautiful than
Eliza’s, though not more charming. I allow she has
small claims to perfection ; but then, I maintain, that,
if she were more perfect, she would be less interesting.”

8

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

“ And so you prefer her faults to other people’s per-
fections ? ”

“ Just so — saving my mother’s presence.”

“ Oh, my dear Gilbert, what nonsense you talk ! — I
know you don’t mean it ; it’s quite out of the question,”
said my mother, getting up, and bustling out of the
room, under pretence of household business, in order
to escape the contradiction that was trembling on my
tongue.

After that, Rose favoured me with further particulars
respecting Mrs Graham. Her appearance, manners, and
dress, and the very furniture of the room she inhabited,
were all set before me, with rather more clearness and
precision than I cared to see them ; but, as I was not a
very attentive listener, I could not repeat the description
if I would.

The next day was Saturday ; and, on Sunday, every-
body wondered whether or not the fair unknown would
profit by the vicar’s remonstrance, and come to church.
I confess, I looked with some interest myself towards
the old family pew, appertaining to Wildfell Hall, where
the faded crimson cushions and lining had been unpressed
and unrenewed so many years, and the grim escutcheons,
with their lugubrious borders of rusty black cloth,
frowned so sternly from the wall above.

And there I beheld a tall, lady-like figure, clad in
black. Her face was towards me, and there was some-
thing in it, which, once seen, invited me to look again.
Her hair was raven black, and disposed in long glossy
ringlets, a style of coiffure rather unusual in those days,
but always graceful and becoming ; her complexion was
clear and pale ; her eyes I could not see, for being bent
upon her prayer-book they were concealed by their
drooping lids and long black lashes, but the brows above
were expressive and well defined ; the forehead was
lofty and intellectual, the nose a perfect aquiline, and

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

9

the features in general unexceptionable-only 'here

was a slight hollowness about the cheeks and eyes, an
7he lbs though finely formed, were a little too thin, a
little too firmly compressed, and had somet
them that betokened, I thought, no very soft or amiable
tpmnpr • 3.nd X suid in mv hcurt ... c *

«PI would rather admire you from this distance, fair

lady, than be the partner of your home.

Just then, she happened to raise her eyes, and they
met mine ; I did not choose to withdraw my gaze, and
Te turned again to her book, but with a momentary,
indefinable expression of quiet scorn, that was inexpress-

*bl « She °dihdts me an impudent PUWy’”f *°£ tf
« Humph !— she shall change her mind before long,

T think it worth while.”

But then it flashed upon me that these were very im-
proper thoughts for a place of worship, and that my
behaviour on the present occasion, was anything bu
wtT Tt ought to be. Previous, however to directing
my mind to the service, I glanced round the church o

SStmong theVstr,aannd S'wSn and her daughter ;

rion Then, she glanced at me, simpered a little,
and' blushed, modesfly looked at her prayer-book, and
•endeavoured to compose her fotures; . ; p

Here I was transgressing again ; and this t m
made sensible of it b, . sudden d,g tn he
the. elbow of my pert brother. For the present,
could only resent the insult by pressing my foot upon
lfistoes, deferring further vengeance till we got out of

church.

-

IO

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

/

v

Now, Halford, before I close this letter, I’ll tell you
who Eliza Millward was ; she was the vicar’s younger
daughter, and a very engaging little creature, for whom
I felt no small degree of partiality ; — and she knew it,
though I had never come to any direct explanation, and
had no definite intention of so doing, for my mother,
who maintained there was no one good enough for me
within twenty miles round, could not bear the thoughts
of my marrying that insignificant little thing, who, in
addition to her numerous other disqualifications, had not
twenty pounds to call her own. Eliza’s figure was at once
slight and plump, her face small, and nearly as round
as my sister’s, — complexion something similar to hers,
but more delicate and less decidedly blooming, nose,
retrousse, — features, generally irregular ; — and, alto-
gether, she was rather charming than pretty. But her
eyes — I must not forget those remarkable features, for
therein her chief attraction lay — in outward aspect at
least ; they were long and narrow in shape, the irids
black, or very dark brown, the expression various, and ever
changing, but always either preternaturally — I had almost
said diabolically — wicked, or irresistibly bewitching —
often both. Her voice was gentle and childish, her
tread light and soft as that of a cat ; — but her manners
more frequently resembled those of a pretty playful
kitten, that is now pert and roguish, now timid and
demure, according to its own sweet will.

Her sister, Mary, was several years older, several
inches taller, and of a larger, coarser build — a plain,
quiet, sensible girl, who had patiently nursed their mothe*
through her last long, tedious illness, and been the house-
keeper, and family drudge, from thence to the present
time. She was trusted and valued by her father, loved
and courted by all dogs, cats, children, and pool
people, and slighted and neglected by everybody else.

The Reverend Michael Millward, himself, was a

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

II

tall, ponderous, elderly gentleman, who placed a shovel-
hat above his large, square, massive-featured face, carried
a stout walking-stick in his hand, and encased his still
powerful limbs in knee-breeches and gaiters, — or black
silk stockings on state occasions. He was a man of
fixed principles, strong prejudices, and regular habits,
intolerant of dissent in any shape, acting under a firm
conviction that his opinions were always right, and who-
ever differed from them must be either most deplorably
ignorant, or wilfully blind.

In childhood, I had always been accustomed to
regard him with a feeling of reverential awe — but lately,
even now, surmounted, for, though he had a fatherly
kindness for the well-behaved, he was a strict disciplin-
arian, and had often sternly reproved our juvenile
failings and peccadilloes ; and moreover, in those days
whenever he called upon our parents, we had to stand
up before him, and say our catechism, or repeat “ How
doth the little busy bee,” or some other hymn, or —
worse than all — be questioned about his last text, and
the heads of the discourse, which we never could
remember. Sometimes, the worthy gentleman would '
reprove my mother for being over-indulgent to her sons/''
with a reference to old Eli,~7)lHDI^^
which was particularly galling to her feelings ; and,
very highly as she respected him, and all his sayings, I
once heard her exclaim, “ I wish to goodness he had
a son himself! He wouldn’t be so ready with his
advice to other people then ; — he’d see what it is to
have a couple, of boys to keep in order.”

He had a laudablecare "forms own bodily health —
kept very early hours, regularly took a walk before
breakfast, was vastly particular about warm and dry
clothing, had never been known to preach a sermon
without previously swallowing a raw egg — albeit he
was gifted with good lungs and a powerful voice, —

12

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

and was, generally, extremely particular about what he
ate and drank, though by no means abstemious, and
having a mode of dietary peculiar to himself, — being
a great despiser of tea and such slops, and a patron
of malt liquors, bacon and eggs, ham, hung beef, and
other strong meats, which agreed well enough with
his digestive organs, and therefore were maintained by
him to be good and wholesome for everybody, and
confidently recommended to the most delicate con-
valescents or dyspeptics, who, if they failed to derive
the promised benefit from his prescriptions, were told
it was because they had not persevered, and if they
complained of inconvenient results therefrom, were
assured it was all fancy.

I will just touch upon two other persons whom I
have mentioned, and then bring this long letter to
a close. These are Mrs Wilson and her daughter.
The former was the widow of a substantial farmer, a
narrow-minded, tattling old gossip, whose character is
not worth describing. She had two sons, Robert,
a rough countrified farmer, and Richard, a retiring,
studious young man, who was studying the classics
with the vicar’s assistance, preparing for college, with
a view to enter the Church.

Their sister Jane was a young lady of some talents,
and more ambition. She had, at her own desire,
received a regular boarding-school education, superior
to what any member of the family had obtained before.
She had taken the polish well, acquired considerable
elegance of manners, quite lost her provincial accent,
and could boast of more accomplishments than the
vicar’s daughters. She was considered a beauty besides ;
but never for a moment could she number me amongst
her admirers. She was about six and twenty, rather
tall, and very slender, her hair was neither chestnut nor
auburn, but a most decided, bright, light red, her com-

ena:

OF WILDFELL HALL.

r3

as remarkably fair and brilliant, her head
small, neck long, chin well turned, but very short, lips
thin and red, eyes clear hazel, quick and penetrating,
but entirely destitute of poetry or feeling. She had,
or might have had, many suitors in her own rank of
life, but scornfully repulsed or rejected them all ; for
none but a gentleman could please her refined taste, and
none but a rich one could satisfy her soaring ambition.
One gentleman there was, from whom she had lately
received some rather pointed attentions, and upon
whose heart, name, and fortune, it was whispered, she
had serious designs. This was Mr Laurence, the
young squire, whose family had formerly occupied
Wildfell Hall, but had deserted it, some fifteen years
ago, for a more modern and commodious mansion in
the neighbouring parish.

I bid you adieu for the present.
This is the first instalment of my debt. If the coin
suits you, tell me so, and I’ll send you the rest al
my leisure : if you would rather remain my creditor
than stuff your purse with such ungainly heavy pieces, —
tell me still, and I’ll pardon your bad taste, and
willingly keep the treasure to myself. — Yours, immutably,
Gilbert Markham.

o

Chapter tj*

I PERCEIVE with joy, my most valued friend,
that the cloud of your displeasure has passed
away ; the light of your countenance blesses me
once more, and you desire the continuation of my
story ; therefore, without more ado, you shall have
it.

THE TENANT OF

ELL,

14

*

Sunday, the latest in the October of i82;
following Tuesday I was out with my dog and gun,
in pursuit of such game as I could find within the
territory of Linden-Car ; but finding none at all, I
turned my arms against the hawks and carrion-crows,
whose depredations, as I suspected, had deprived me
\ of better prey. To this end I left the more frequented
regions, the wooded valleys, the corn-fields and the
meadow-lands, and proceeded to mount the steep
acclivity of Wildfell, the wildest and the loftiest
eminence in our neighbourhood, where, as you ascend,
the hedges, as well as the trees, become scanty and
stunted, the former, at length, giving place to rough
stone fences, partly greened over with ijy and moss, the
latter to larches and Scotch fir-trees, or isolated black-
thorns. The fields, being rough and stony, and wholly
unfit for the plough, vfere mostly devoted to the pastur-
ing of sheep and cattle ; the soil was thin and poor .

. bits of grey rock here and there peeped out from the
v grassy hillocks; bilberry plants and heather — relics of
more savage wildness — grew under the walls ; and in
~~~Tnahy oF tfie~encIosures, ragweeds and rushes usurped
supremacy over the scanty herbage ; — but these were
not my property.

Near the top of this hill, about two miles from
Linden-Car, stood Wildfell Hall, a superannuated
mansion of the Elizabethan era, built of dark grey
a- stone, — venerable and picturesque to look at, but, doubt-
less, rpld-jand gloomy enough to inhabit, with its thick
stone mullionsanduttle^ latticed panes, its time-eaten
air-holes, and its too lonely, too unsheltered situation, -
only shielded from the war of wind and weather by a
group of Scotch firs, themselves half blighted with
storms, and looking as stern and gloomy as the Hall
itself. Behind it lay a few desolate fields, and then,
the brown heath-clad summit of the hill ; before it

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL. 15

(enclosed by stone walls, and entered by an iron gate
with large balls of grey granite — similar to those which
decorated the roof and gables — surmounting the gate-
posts) was a garden, — once stocked with such hard
plants and flowers as could best brook the soil and
climate, and such trees and shrubs as could best endure
the gardener’s torturing shears, and most readily assume
the shapes he chose to give them, — now, having been
left so many years, untilled and untrimmed, abandoned
to the weeds and the grass, to the frost and the wind,
the rain and the drought, it presented a very singular
appearance indeed* The close green walls of privet,
that had bordered the principal walk, were two-thirds
withered away, and the rest grown beyond all reasonable
bounds ; the old boxwood swan, that sat beside the
scraper, had lost its neck and half its body : the castel-
lated towers of laurel in the middle of the garden, the
gigantic warrior that stood on one side of the gateway, y
and the lion that guarded the other, were sprouted into, ^ ^
such fantastic shapes as resembled nothing either in ^
heaven or earth, or in the waters under the earth ; but,
to my young imagination, they presented all of them a
goblinish appearance, that harmonised well with the
ghostly legends and dark traditions our old nurse had
told us respecting the haunted hall and its departed
occupants.

I had succeeded in killing a hawk and two crows
when I came within sight of the mansion ; and then,
relinquishing further depredations, I sauntered on, to
have a look at the old place, and see what changes had
been wrought in it by its new inhabitant. I did not
like to go quite to the front and stare in at the gate ;
but I paused beside the garden wall, and looked, and
saw no change — except in one wing, where the broken
windows and dilapidated roof had evidently been re-
paired, and where a thin wreath of smoke was curling
upl from the stack of chimneys.

1 6 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

While I thus stood, leaning on my gun, and lookir
up at the dark gables, sunk in an idle reverie,, weaving
tissue of wayward fancies, in which old associations an
the fair young hermit, now within those walls, bore
nearly equal part, I heard a slight rustling and scran
bling just within the garden ; and, glancing in tl
direction whence the sound proceeded, I beheld a tir
hand elevated above the wall : it clung to the topmc
stone, and then another little hand was raised to take
firmer hold, and then appeared a small white forehea.
surmounted with wreaths of light brown hair, with
pair of deep blue eyes beneath, and the upper portion .
a diminutive ivory nose.

The eyes did not notice me, but sparkled with gl
on beholding Sancho, my beautiful black and whi
setter, that was coursing about the field with its muzz
to the ground. The little creature raised its face ar
called aloud to the dog. The good-natured anim
paused, looked up, and wagged his tail, but ma<
no further advances. The child (a little boy, apparent
about five years old) scrambled up to the top of t
wall and called again and again ; but finding this of i
avail, apparently made up his mind, like Mahomet, to :
to the mountain, since the mountain would not cor
to him, and attempted to get over ; but a crabbed o
cherry tree, that grew hard by, caught him by the fro*
in one of its crooked scraggy arms that stretched ov
the wall. In attempting to disengage himself, his fo
slipped, and down he tumbled — but not to the earth
the tree still kept him suspended. There was a sile
struggle, and then a piercing shriek ; — but, in an instai
I had dropped my gun on the grass, and caught t
little fellow in my arms.

I wiped his eyes with his frock, told him he was
right, and called Sancho to pacify him. He was ji
putting his little hand on the dog’s neck and beginni

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

17

to smile through his tears, when I heard, behind me, a
click of the iron gate, and a rustle of female garments,
and lo ! Mrs Graham darted upon me, — her neck un-
covered, her black locks streaming in the wind.

“ Give me the child ! ” she said, in a voice scarce
louder than a whisper, but with a tone of startling
vehemence, and, seizing the boy, she snatched him from
me, as if some dire contamination were in my touch, and
then stood with one hand firmly clasping his, the other
on his shoulder, fixing upon me her large, luminous,
dark eyes — pale, breathless, quivering with agitation.

“ I was not harming the child, madam/’ said I,
scarce knowing whether to be most astonished or dis-
pleased ; “ he was tumbling off the wall there ; and I
was so fortunate as to catch him, while he hung sus-
pended headlong from that tree, and prevent I know
not. what catastrophe.”

“ I beg your pardon, sir,” stammered she ; — suddenly
calming down, — the light of reason seeming to break
upon her beclouded spirit, and a faint blush mantling
on her cheek — “ I did not know you ; — and I
thought ”

She stooped to kiss the child, and fondly clasped her
arm round his neck.

“You thought I was going to kidnap your son, I
suppose ? ”

She stroked his head with a half-embarrassed laugh,
and replied —

“ I did not know he had attempted to climb the
wall. — I have the pleasure of addressing Mr Markham,
I believe ? ” she added, somewhat abruptly.

I bowed, but ventured to ask her how she knew
me.

“ Your sister called here, a few days ago, with Mrs
Markham.”

“ Is the resemblance so strong then ? ” I asked, in

I. B

1 8 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL*

some surprise, and not so greatly flattered at the idea as
I ought to have been.

“ There is a likeness about the eyes and complexion,
I think,” replied she, somewhat dubiously surveying
my faCe : — “ and I think I saw you at church on
Sunday.”

I smiled. — There was something either in that smite
or the recollections it awakened that was particularly
displeasing to her, for she suddenly assumed again that
proud, chilly look that had so unspeakably roused my
corruption at church — a look of repellent scorn, so easily
assumed, and so entirely without the least distortion of
a single feature, that, while there, it seemed like the
natural expression of the face, and was the more pro-
voking to me, because I could not think it affected.

“ Good morning, Mr Markham,” said she ; and
without another word or glance", " she withdrew, with
her child, into the garden ; and I returned home, angry
and dissatisfied — I could scarcely tell you why — and
therefore will not attempt it.

I only stayed to put away my gun and powder-horn,
and give some requisite directions to one of the farming-
men, and then repaired to the vicarage, to solace my
spirit and soothe my ruffled temper with the company
and conversation of Eliza Millward.

I found her, as usual, busy with some piece of soft
embroidery (the mania for Berlin wools had not yet
commenced), while her sister was seated at the chim-
ney corner, with the cat on her knee, mending a heap
of stockings.

« Mary — Mary put them away ! ” Eliza was hastily
saying just as I entered the room.

“ Not I, indeed !” was the phlegmatic reply ; and
my appearance prevented further discussion.

“ You’re so unfortunate, Mr Markham ! ” observed
the younger sister, with one of her arch, sidelong glances.

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

19

“ Papa’s just gone out into the parish, and not likely to
be back for an hour ! ”

“ Never mind ; I can manage to spend a few minutes
with his daughters, if they’ll allow me,” said I, bringing
a chair to the fire, and seating myself therein, without
waiting to be asked.

“ Well, if you’ll be very good and amusing, we shall
not object.”

“ Let your permission be unconditional, pray ; for I
came not to give pleasure, but to seek it,” I answered.

However, I thought it but reasonable to make some
slight exertion to render my company agreeable ; and
what little effort I made, was apparently pretty success-
ful, for Miss Eliza was never in a better humour. We
seemed, indeed, to be mutually pleased with each other,
and managed to maintain between us a cheerful and
animated, though not very profound conversation. It
was little better than a tete-a-tete , for Miss Millward
never opened her lips, except occasionally to correct
some random assertion or exaggerated expression of
her sister’s, and once to ask her to pick up the ball of
cotton, that had rolled under the table. I did this
myself, however, as in duty bound.

“ Thank you, Mr Markham,” said she, as I presented
it to her. “ I would have picked it up myself ; only I
did not want to disturb the cat.”

“ Mary, dear, that won’t excuse you in Mr Mark-
ham s eyes,” said Eliza ; “ he hates cats, I dare say, as
cordially as he does old maids — like all other gentlemen.
Don’t you, Mr Markham ? ”

“ I believe it is natural for our unamiable sex to
dislike the creatures,” replied I : " for you ladies lavish
so many caresses upon them.”

€t Bless them — little darlings ! ” cried she, in a sudden
burst of enthusiasm, turning round, and overwhelming
her sister’s pet with a shower of kisses.

20

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

“ Don’t Eliza ! ” said Miss Millward, somewhat
gruffly, as she impatiently pushed her away.

But it was time for me to be going : make what haste
I would, I should still be too late for tea ; and my
mother was the soul of order and punctuality.

My fair friend was evidently unwilling to bid me
adieu. I tenderly squeezed her little hand at parting ;
and she repaid me with one of her softest smiles and
most bewitching glances. I went home, very happy,
with a heart brimful of complacency for myself, and
overflowing with love for Eliza.

Cljatitet it}«

TWO days after, Mrs Graham called at Linden-
Car, contrary to the expectation of Rose, who
entertained an idea that the mysterious occupant
of Wildfell Hall would wholly disregard the common
observances of civilised life, — in which opinion she was
supported by tbe W llsons, who testified that neithei
their call nor the Millwards’ had been returned as yet.
Now, however, the cause of that omission was explained,
though not entirely to the satisfaction of Rose. Mrs
Graham had brought her child with her, and on my
mother’s expressing surprise that he could walic so far,
she replied —

« It is a long walk for him ; but I must have either
taken him with me, or relinquished the visit altogethei ;
for I never leave him alone i and I think, Mrs Mark-
ham, X must beg you to make my excuses to the INXill-
wards and Mrs Wilson, when you see them, as I fear
I cannot do myself the pleasure of calling upon them
till my little Arthur is able to accompany me.”

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

21

“ But you have a servant,” said Rose ; “ could you
not leave him with her ? ”

“ She has her own occupations to attend to ; and,
besides, she is too old to run after a child, and he is too
mercurial to be tied to an elderly woman.”

« But you left him to come to church.”

“ Yes, once ; but I would not have left him for any
other purpose ; and I think, in future, I must contrive
to bring him with me, or stay at home.”

“ Is he so mischievous ? ” asked my mother, consid-
erably shocked.

“No,” replied the lady, sadly smiling, as she
stroked the wavy locks of her son, who was seated
on a low stool at her feet, “but he is my only
treasure ; and I am his only friend, so we don’t like to
be separated.”

“ But, my dear, I call that doting,” said my plain-
spoken parent. “You should try to suppress such
foolish fondness, as well to save your son from ruin as
ycurself from ridicule.”

“ Ruin ! Mrs Markham ? ”

“Yes ; it is spoiling the child. Even at his age, he
ought not to be always tied to his mother’s apron-string ;
he should learn to be ashamed of it.”

« Mrs Markham, I beg you will not say such things
in his presence at least. I trust my son will never be
ashamed to love his mother ! ” said Mrs Graham, with
a serious energy that startled the company.

My mother attempted to appease her by an explana-
tion ; but she seemed to think enough had been said on
the subject, and abruptly turned the conversation.

« Just as I thought,” said I to myself : “ the lady’s
temper is none of the mildest, notwithstanding her
sweet, pale face and lofty brow, where thought and
suffering seem equally to have stamped their impress.”
All this time, I was seated at a table on the other

22

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

side of the room, apparently immersed in the perusal
of a volume of the Farmer s Magazine , which I hap-
pened to have been reading at the moment of our
visitor s arrival ; and, not choosing to be over civil, I
had merely bowed as she entered, and continued my
occupation as before.

In a little while, however, I was sensible that some
one was approaching me, with a light, but slow and
hesitating tread. It was little Arthur, irresistibly at-
tracted by my dog Sancho, that was lying at my feet.
On looking up, I beheld him standing about two yards
off, with his clear blue eyes wistfully gazing on the dog,
transfixed to the spot, not by fear of the animal, but by
a timid disinclination to approach its master. A little
encouragement, however, induced him to come forward.
The child, though shy, was not sullen. In a minute
he was kneeling on the carpet, with his arms round
Sancho’s neck, and in a minute or two more, the little
fellow was seated on my knee, surveying with eager
interest the various specimens of horses, cattle, pigs, and
model farms portrayed in the volume before me. I
glanced at his mother now and then, to see how she
relished the new-sprung intimacy ; and I saw, by the
unquiet aspect of her eye, that for some reason or other
she was uneasy at the child’s position.

“ Arthur,” she said, at length, “ come here. You
are troublesome to Mr Markham : he wishes to read.”

“ % no means, Mrs Graham ; pray let him stay.
I am as much amused as he is,” pleaded I. But still,
with hand and eye, she silently called him to her side.

“No, mamma,” said the child; “let me look at
these pictures first ; and then I’ll come, and tell you all
about them.”

“ We are going to have a small party on Monday,
the 5th of November,” said my mother ; “ and I hope
you will not refuse to make one, Mrs Graham. You

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

23

can bring your little boy with you, you know — I dare
say we shall be able to amuse him ; — and then you can
make your own apologies to the Millwards and Wilsons,
— they will all be here, I expect.”

" Thank you, I never go to parties.”

“ Oh ! but this will be quite a family concern — early
hours, and nobody here but ourselves, and just the
Millwards and Wilsops, most of whom you already
know, and Mr Lawrence, your landlord, with whom
you ought to make acquaintance.”

“ I do know something of him — but you must ex-
cuse me this time ; for the evenings, now, are dark and
damp, and Arthur, I fear, is too delicate to risk ex-
posure to their influence with impunity. We must
defer the enjoyment of your hospitality, till the return of
longer days and warmer nights.”

Rose, now, at a hint from my mother, produced a
decanter of wine, with accompaniments of glasses and
cake, from the cupboard and the oak sideboard, and the
refreshment was duly presented to the guests. They
both partook of the cake, but obstinately refused the
wine, in spite of their hostess’s hospitable attempts to
force it upon them. Arthur, especially, shrank from
the ruby nectar as if in terror and disgust, and was
ready to cry when urged to take it.

“ Never mind, Arthur,” said his mamma, “ Mrs
Markham thinks it will do you good, as you were tired
with your walk ; but she will not oblige you to take
it ! — I dare say you will do very well without. He
detests the very sight of wine,” she added, “ and the
smell of it almost makes him sick. I have been ac-
customed to make hjm swallow a little wjne oPweak
spirits-and- water,, of medicine when he was
sickTanH, in fact, I have done what I could to make
mm hate them.”

Everybody laughed except the young widow and
her son.

24

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

“ Well, Mrs Graham,” said my mother, wiping the
tears of merriment from her bright blue eyes — “ well,
you surprise me ! I really gave you credit for having
more sense. — The poor child will be the veriest milk-
sop that ever was sopped ! Only think what a man

you will make of him, if you persist in ”

“ I think it a very excellent plan,” interrupted Mrs
Graham with imperturbable gravity. “ By that means
I hope to save him from one degrading vice at least.
I wish I could render the incentives to every other
equally innoxious in his case.”

" But by such means,” said I, “ you will never
render him virtuous.— What is it that constitutes virtue,
Mrs Graham ! Is it the circumstance of being able
and willing_to resist temptation ; or that of having no
temptations to resist ? Is he a strong man that over-
comes great obstacles and performs surprising achieve-
ments, though by dint of great muscular exertion, and
at the risk of some subsequent fatigue, or he that sits in
his chair all day, with nothing to do more laborious
than stirring the fire, and carrying his food to his
mouth ? If you would have your son to walk honour-
ably through “the world, you must not attempt to clear
the stones from his path, but teach him to walk firmly
over them — not insist upon leading him by the hand,
But let him learn to go alone.”

“ I will lead him by the hand, Mr Markham, till he
has strength to go alone ; and I will clear as many
stones from his path as I can, and teach him to avoid
the rest — or walk firmly over them, as you say ; — for
when I have done my utmost, in the way of clearance,
there will still be plenty left to exercise all the agility,
steadiness, and circumspection he will ever have. — It is
all very well to talk about noble resistance, and trials of
virtue ; but for fifty — or five hundred men that have
yielded to temptation, show me one that has had virtue

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

25

to resist. And why should I take it for granted that
my son will be one in a thousand ? — and not rather pre-
pare for the worst, and suppose he will be like his — like
the rest of mankind, unless I take care to prevent
it?”

“ You are very complimentary to us all,” I observed.

“ I know nothing about you — I speak of those I do
know — and when I see the whole race of mankind (with
a few rare exceptions) stumbling and blundering along
the path of life, sinking into every pitfall, and breaking
their shins over every impediment that lies in their way,
shall I not use all the means in my power to insure for
him a smoother and a safer passage.”

“ Yes, but the surest means will be to endeavour to
fortify him against temptation, not to remove it out of
his way.”

“ I will do both, Mr Markham. God knows he
will have temptations enough to assail him, both from
within and without, when I have done all I can to
render vice as uninviting to him, as it is abominable in
its own nature — I myself have had, indeed, but few in-
centives to what the world calls vice, but yet I have
experienced temptations and trials of another kind, that
have required, on many occasions, more watchfulness
and firmness to resist, than I have hitherto been able to
muster against them. And this, I believe, is what most
others would acknowledge, who are accustomed to
reflection, and wishful to strive against their natural
corruptions.”

“Yes,” said my mother, but half apprehending her
drift; “but you would not judge of a boy by yourself
— and my dear Mrs Graham, let me warn you in good
time against the error — the fatal error, I may call it —
of taking that boy’s education upon yourself. Because
you are clever in some things, and well-informed, you
may fancy yourself equal to the task ; but indeed you

26

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

I

f

are not ; and if you persist in the attempt, believe me
you will bitterly repent it when the mischief is done.”

“ I am to send him to school, I suppose, to learn to
despise his mother’s authority and affection ! ” said the
lady, with rather a bitter smile.

“ Oh, no ! — But if you would have a boy to despise
his mother, let her keep him at home, and spend her life
in petting him up, and slaving to indulge his follies and
caprices.”

“ I perfectly agree with you, Mrs Markham ; but
nothing can be further from my principles and practice
than such criminal weakness as that.”

“Well, but you will treat him like a girl — you’ll
spoil his spirit, and make a mere Miss Nancy of him —
you will, indeed, Mrs Graham, whatever you may think.
But I’ll get Mr Millward to talk to you about it : — he’ll
tell you the consequences ; he’ll set it before you as
plain as the day ; — and tell you what you ought to do,
and all about it ; and, I don’t doubt, he’ll be able to
convince you in a minute.”

“ No occasion to trouble the vicar,” said Mrs Graham,
glancing at me — I suppose I was smiling at my mother’s
unbounded confidence in that worthy gentleman — “ Mr
Markham here, thinks his powers of conviction at least
equal to Mr Millward’s. If I hear not him, neither
should I be convinced though one rose from the dead,
he would tell you. Well, Mr Markham, you that
maintain that a boy should not be shielded from evil,
but sent out to battle against it, alone and unassisted —
not taught to avoid the snares of life, but boldly to rush
into them, or over them, as he may — to seek danger
rather than shun it, and feed his virtue by temptation, —
would you ”

“ I beg your pardon, Mrs Graham — but you get on
too fast. I have not yet said that a boy should be
taught to rush into the snares of life, — or even wilfully

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

27

:o seek temptation for the sake of exercising his virtue
by overcoming it ; — I only say that it is better to arm .
and strengthep^ypur hero, than to disarm^ndTnfeeble
&he foe ; — and if you were to rear an oak saphng~Tn a
hot-house, tending it carefully night and day, and shield-
ing it from every breath of wind, you could not expect
it to become a hardy tree, like that which has grown up
on the mountain-side, exposed to all the action of the
elements, and not even sheltered from the shock of the
tempest.”

“ Granted ; — but would you use the same argument
with regard to a girl ? ”

“ Certainly not.”

Qro ; you would have her to be tenderly and delicately
nurtured, like a hot-house plant — taught to cling to
Dthers for direction and support, and guarded, as much
as possible, from the very knowledge of evilf~\ But
will you be so good as to inform me why you make this
distinction ? Is it that you think she has no
virtue ? ”

“Assuredly not.”

“Well, but you affirm that virtue is only elicited by
temptation ;-tand you think that a woman cannot be
too little exposed to temptation, or too little acquainted
with vice, or anything connected therewith^ It must
be, either, that you think she is essentially so vicious,
or so feeble-minded that she cannot withstand tempta-
tion,— and though she may be pure and innocent as
long as she is kept in ignorance and restraint, yet, being
destitute of real virtue, to teach her how to sin, is at
once to make her a sinner, and the greater her know-
ledge, the wider her liberty, the deeper will be her
depravity, — whereas, in the nobler sex, there is a
natural tendency to goodness, guarded by a superior
fortitude, which, jhe more it is exercised by trials and
dangers, is only the further developed ”

28

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

“ Heaven forbid that I should think so ! ” I inter-
rupted her at last.

“Well then, it must be that you think they are both
weak and prone to err, and the slightest error, the
merest shadow of pollution, will ruin the one, while the
character of the other will be strengthened and em-
bellished— his education properly finished by a little
practical acquaintance with forbidden things. Such
experience, to him (to use a trite simile), will be like
the storm to the oak, which, though it may scatter the
leaves, and snap the smaller branches, serves but to
rivet the roots, and to harden and condense the fibres
of the tree. You would have us encourage our sons to
prove all things by their own exp erience, while our
daughters must not even profit by the experience of
others. Now I would have both so to Benefit by the
*expenence of others, and the precepts of a higher
authority, that they should know beforehand to refuse
the evil and choose the good, and require no experi-

ental proofs to teach them the evil of transgression.

would not send a poor girl into the world, unarmed
gainst her foes, and ignorant of the snares that beset
her path ; nor would I watch and guard her, till, de-
prived of self-respect and self-reliance, she lost the
power or the will to watch and guard herself and as
for my son — if I thought he would grow up to be what
you call a man of the world — one that has ‘ seen life/
and glories in his experience, even though he should so
far profit by it as to sober down, at length, into a use-
ful and respected member of society — I would rather
that he died to-morrow! — rather a thousand times ! ”
she earnestly repeated, pressing her darling to her side
and kissing his forehead with intense affection. He
had, already, left his new companion, and been standing
for some time beside his mother’s knee, looking up into
her face, and listening in silent wonder to her incom-
prehensible discourse.

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

29

« Well ! you ladies must always have the last word,

I suppose,” said I, observing her rise, and begin to
take leave of my mother.

« You may have as many words as you please, — only
I can’t stay to hear them.”

« No : that is the way : you hear just as much of an
argument as you please ; and the rest may be spoken to
the wind.”

“ If you are anxious to say anything more on the
subject,” replied she, as she shook hands with Rose,
“you must bring your sister to see me some line day,
and I’ll listen, as patiently as you could wish, to what-
ever you please to say. I would rather be lectured by
you than the vicar, because I should have less remorse
in telling you, at the end of the discourse, that I pre-
serve my own opinion precisely the same as at the
beginning — as would be the case, I am persuaded, with
regard to either logician.”

' “ Yes,”YY*course,” replied I, determined to be as

provoking as herself ; “ for when a lady does consent
to listen to an argument against her own opinions, she
is always predetermined to withstand it — to listen only
with her bodily ears, keeping the mental organs re-
solutely closed against the strongest reasoning.”

“Good morning, Mr Markham,” said my fair
antagonist, with a pitying smile ; and deigning no
further rejoinder, she slightly bowed, and was about to
withdraw ; but her son, with childish impertinence,
arrested her by exclaiming —

“Mamma, you have not shaken hands with Mr
Markham ! ”

She laughingly turned round, and held out her hand.
-I gave it a spiteful squeeze; for I was annoyed at the '
^continual injustice she had done me from the very dawn-*
of our acquaintance. Without knowing anything about
my real disposition and principles, she was evidently

30

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

prejudiced against me, and seemed bent upon showing
me that her opinions respecting me, on every particular,
fell far below those 1 entertained of myself. I was
naturally touchy, or it would not have vexed me so
much. Perhaps, too, I was a little bit spoiled by my
mother and sister, and some other ladies of my acquaint-
ance ; and yet I was by no means a fop — of that I am
fully convinced, whether you are or not.

o

Chapter

OUR party, on the 5th of November, passed off
very well, in spite of Mrs Graham’s refusal to
grace it with her presence. Indeed, it is pro-
bable that, had she been there, there would have been
less cordiality, freedom, and frolic amongst us than there
was without her.

My mother, as usual, was cheerful and chatty, full of
activity and good-nature, and only faulty in being too
anxious to make her guests happy, thereby forcing
several of them to do what their soul abhorred, in the
way of eating or drinking, sitting opposite the blazing
fire, or talking when they would be silent. Neverthe-
less, they bore it very well, being all in their holiday
humours.

Mr Millward was mighty in important dogmas and
sententious jokes, pompous anecdotes and oracular dis-
courses, dealt out for the edification of the whole
assembly in general, and of the admiring Mrs Markham,
the polite Mr Lawrence, the sedate Mary Millward,
the quiet Richard Wilson, and the matter-of-fact
Robert, in particular, — as being the most attentive
listeners.

Mrs Wilson was more brilliant than ever, with her

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

31

nidgets of fresh news and old scandal, strung together
vith trivial questions and remarks, and oft-repeated
observations, uttered apparently for the sole purpose of
lenying a moment’s rest to her inexhaustible organs of
speech. She had brought her knitting with her, and it
jeemed as if her tongue had laid a wager with her fingers,
;o outdo them in swift and ceaseless motion.

Her daughter Jane was, of course, as graceful and
degant, as witty and seductive, as she could possibly
nanage to be ; for here were all the ladies to outshine,
md all the gentlemen to charm, — and Mr Lawrence,
"specially, to capture and subdue. Her little arts to
effect his subjugation were too subtle and impalpable to
ittract my observation ; but I thought there was a
:ertain refined affectation of superiority, and an ungenial
self-consciousness about her, that negatived all her
advantages ; and after she was gone, Rose interpreted
:o me her various looks, words, and actions with a
ningled acuteness and asperity that made me wonder,
equally, at the lady’s artifice and my sister’s penetra-
:ion, and ask myself if she too had an eye to the squire
— but never mind, Halford ; she had not.

Richard Wilson, Jane’s younger brother, sat in a
:orner, apparently good-tempered, but silent and shy,
iesirous to escape observation, but willing enough to
isten and observe ; and although somewhat out of his
dement, he would have been happy enough in his own
|uiet way, if my mother could only have let him alone ;
:>ut in her mistaken kindness, she would keep persecut-
ng him with her attentions — pressing upon him all
nanner of viands, under the notion that he was too
Dashful to help himself, and obliging him to shout across
:he room his monosyllabic replies to the numerous ques-
tions and observations by which she vainly attempted to
draw him into conversation.

Rose informed me that he never would have favoured

32

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

us with his company, but for the importunities of his
sister Jane, who was most anxious to show Mr Lawrence
that she had at least one brother more gentlemanly and
refined than Robert. That worthy individual she had
been equally solicitous to keep away ; but he affirmed
that he saw no reason why he should not enjoy a crack
with Markham and the old lady (my mother was not
old, really), and bonny Miss Rose and the parson, as
well as the best ; — and he was in the right of it too.
So he talked commonplace with my mother and Rose,
and discussed parish affairs with the vicar, farming
matters with me, and politics with us both.

Mary Millward was another mute, — not so much
tormented with cruel kindness as Dick Wilson, because
she had a certain short, decided way of answering and
refusing, and was supposed to be rather sullen than
diffident. However that might be, she certainly did
not give much pleasure to the company ; — nor did she
appear to derive much from it. Eliza told me she had
only come because her father insisted upon it, having
taken it into his head that she devoted herself too ex-
clusively to her household duties, to the neglect of such
relaxations and innocent enjoyments as were proper to
her age and sex. She seemed to be good-humoured
enough on the whole. Once or twice she was pro-
voked to laughter by the wit or the merriment of some
favoured individual amongst us ; and then I observed
she sought the eye of Richard Wilson, who sat over
against her. As he studied with her father, she had
some acquaintance with him, in spite of the retiring
habits of both, and I suppose there was a kind of fellow-
feeling established between them.

^ My Eliza was charming beyond description, coquet-
tish without affectation, and evidently more desirous to
engage my attention than that of all the room besides.
Her delight in having me near her, seated or standing

the tenant of wildfell hall.

33

I oy her side, whispering in her ear, or pressing her hand
in the dance, was plainly legible in her glowing face
and heaving bosom, however belied by saucy words
and gestures. But I had better hold my tongue : if I
boast of these things now, I shall have to blush here-
after.

To proceed, then, with the various individuals of our
party ; Rose was simple and natural as usual, and full
of mirth' and vivacity: ~

Fergus was impertinent and absurd ; but his im-
pertinence and folly served to make others laugh, if
they did not raise himself in their estimation.

And finally (for I omit myself), Mr Lawrence was
gentlemanly and inoffensive to all, and polite to the
vicar and the ladies, especially his hostess and her
daughter, and Miss Wilson — misguided man ; he had
not the taste to prefer Eliza Millward. Mr JLa^rence
and JLwere on tolerably intimate terras. ^Essentially of u
'reserved habits, an3 out seldom quitting the secluded
place of his birth, where he had lived in solitary state
since the death of his father, he had neither the oppor-
tunity nor the inclination for forming many acquaint- ,
anges^and, of ail he had ever known, I (judging by
the results^Ljaias" the companion" most hgreeahle„.tO*hi8
taste. I liked the man weTTenough, but he was too
"cold, and shy, and self-contained, to obtain my cordial
sympathies. A spirit of candour and frankness, w'hen
wholly unaccompanied with coarseness, he admired in
others, but he could not acquire it himself. His ex-
cessive reserve upon all his own concerns was, indeed,
provoking and chilly enough ; but I forgave it, from a
conviction that it originated less in pride and want of
confidence in his friends, than in a certain morbid feel-
ing of delicacy, and a peculiar diffidence, that he was
sensible of, but wanted energy to overcome. His
heart was like a sensitive plant, that opens for a
i. c

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

00' ^ moment in the sunshine, but curls up and shrinks into

itself at the slightest touch of tfie finger, or the lightest
breath oPwind. And, upon- the-* whole, our intimacy
was rather* a mutual predilection than a deep and solid
friendship, such as has since arisen between myself and
you, Halford, whom, in spite of your occasional crusti-
ness, I can liken to nothing so well as an old coat,
unimpeachable in texture, but easy and loose — that has
conformed itself to the shape of the wearer, and which
he may use as he pleases, without being bothered with
the fear of spoiling it ; — whereas Mr Lawrence was
like a new garment, all very neat and trim to look at,
but so tight in the elbows, that you would fear to split
the seams by the unrestricted motion of your arms, and
so smooth and fine in surface that you scruple to expose
it to a single drop of rain.

Soon after the arrival of the guests, my mother
mentioned Mrs Graham, regretted she was not there to
meet them, and explained to the Millwards and Wilsons
the reasons she had given for neglecting to return their
calls, hoping they would excuse her, as she was sure
she did not mean to be uncivil, and would be glad to
see them at any time —

« But she is a very singular lady, Mr Lawrence/’
added she ; “ we don’t know what to make of her —
but I dare say you can tell us something about her, for
she is your tenant, you know, — and she said she knew
you a little.”

All eyes were turned to Mr Lawrence. I thought
he looked unnecessarily confused at being so appealed
to.

“ I, Mrs Markham ! ” said he ; “ you are mistaken
— I don’t — that is — I have seen her, certainly ; but I
am the last person you should apply to for information
respecting Mrs Graham.”

He then immediately turned to Rose, and asked her

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

35

to favour the company with a song, or a tune on the
piano.

“ No,” said she, “ you must ask Miss Wilson : she
outshines us all in singing and music too.”
i Miss Wilson demurred.

“ She’ll sing readily enough,” said Fergus, “if you’ll
undertake to stand by her, Mr Lawrence, and turn
over the leaves for her.”

“ I shall be most happy to do so, Miss Wilson ; will
you allow me ? ”

She bridled her long neck and smiled, and suffered
him to lead her to the instrument, where she played and
sang, in her very best style, one piece after another,
while he stood patiently by, leaning one hand on the
back of her chair, and turning over the leaves of her
book with the other. Perhaps he was as much charmed
with her performance as she was. It was all very fine
in its way ; but I cannot say that it moved me very
deeply. There was plenty of skill and execution, but
precious little feeling.

But we had not done with Mrs Graham yet.

“ I don’t take wine, Mrs Markham,” said Mr Mill-
ward, upon the introduction of that beverage ; “ I’ll take
a little of your home-brewed ale. I always prefer your
home-brewed to anything else.”

Flattered at this compliment, my mother rang the
bell, and a china jug of our best ale was presently
brought and set before the worthy gentleman who so
well knew how to appreciate its excellences.

“ Now this is the thing ! ” cried he, pouring out a
glass of the same in a long stream, skilfully directed
from the jug to the tumbler, so as to produce much
foam without spilling a drop ; and, having surveyed it
for a moment opposite the candle, he took a deep
draught, and then smacked his lips, drew a long breath,
and refilled his glass, my mother looking on with the
greatest satisfaction.

36 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

“ There’s nothing like this, Mrs Markham ! ” said
he. “ I always maintain that there’s nothing to compare
with your home-brewed ale.”

“ I’m sure I’m glad you like it, sir. I always look
after the brewing myself, as well as the cheese and the
butter — I like to have things well done, while we’re
about it.”

“ Quite right, Mrs Markham ! ”

“ But then, Mr Millward, you don’t think it wrong
to take a little wine now and then — or a little spirits
either ! ” said my mother, as she handed a smoking
tumbler of gin-and-water to Mrs Wilson, who affirmed
that wine sat heavy on her stomach, and whose son
Robert was at that moment helping himself to a pretty
stiff glass of the same.

“ By no means ! ” replied the oracle, with a Jove-
like nod ; “ these things are all blessings and mercies,
if we only knew how to make use of them.”

“ But Mrs Graham doesn’t think so. You shall just
hear now what she told us the other day — I told her
I’d tell you.”

And my mother favoured the company with a parti-
cular account of that lady’s mistaken ideas and conduct
regarding the matter in hand, concluding with, “ Now,
don’t you think it is wrong ? ”

“Wrong!” repeated the vicar, with more than
common solemnity — “ criminal, I should say — criminal !
— Not only is it making a fool of the boy, but it is des-
pising the gifts of Providence, and teaching him to
trample them under his feet.”

He then entered more fully into the question, and
explained at large the folly and impiety of such a
proceeding. My mother heard him with profoundest
reverence ; and even Mrs Wilson vouchsafed to rest
her tongue for a moment, and listen in silence, while
she complacently sipped her gin-and-water. Mr Law-

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL. 37

rence sat with his elbow on the table, carelessly playing
with his half-empty wine-glass, and covertly smiling to
himself.

“ But don’t you think, Mr Millward,” suggested he,
when at length that gentleman paused in his discourse,
“ that when a child may be naturally prone to intemper-
ance— by the fault of its parents or ancestors, for instance
— some precautions are advisable ? ” (Now it was
generally believed that Mr Lawrence’s father had short-
ened his days by intemperance.)

K Some precautions, it may be ; but temperance, sir,
is one thing, and abstinence another.”

« But I have heard that, with some persons, temper-
ance— that is, moderation — is almost impossible ; and if
! abstinence be an evil (which some have doubted), no one
will deny that excess is a greater. Some parents have
entirely prohibited their children from tasting intoxicat-
ing liquors ; but a parent’s authority cannot last for
ever: children are naturally prone to hanker after for-
| biddeiTtKinf^ in such a "case, would be

likely to~ftave a strong curiosity to taste, and try the
effect of what has been so lauded and enjoyed by others,
so strictly forbidden to himself— which curiosity would
generally be gratified on the first convenient opportunity ;
and the restraint once broken, serious consequences
might ensue. I don’t pretend to be a judge of such
matters, but it seems to me, that this plan of Mrs
Graham’s, as you describe it, Mrs Markham, extraor-
dinary as it may be, is not without its advantages ; for
here you see the child is delivered at once from tempta-
tion ; he has no secret curiosity, no hankering desire ;
he is as well acquainted with the tempting liquors as he
1 ever wishes to be ; and is thoroughly disgusted with
them, without having suffered from their effects.”

“ And is that right, sir ? Have I not proven to you
how wrong it is — how contrary to Scripture and to

3$ THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

reason to teach a child to look with contempt and dis-
gust upon the blessings of Providence, instead of to use
them alight ? ”

‘‘You may consider laudanum a blessing of Pro-
vidence, sir,” replied Mr Lawrence, smiling ; “ and
yet, you will allow that most of us had better abstain
from it, even in moderation; but,” added he, “I
would not desire you to follow out my simile too
closely — in witness whereof I finish my glass.”

“ And take another, I hope, Mr Lawrence,” said
my mother, pushing the bottle towards him.

He politely declined, and pushing his chair a little
away from the table, leant back towards me — I was
seated a trifle behind, on the sofa beside Eliza Mill-
ward — and carelessly asked me if I knew Mrs
Graham.

“ I have met her once or twice,” I replied.

“ What do you think of her ? ”

“ I cannot say that I like her much. She is hand-
some— or rather I should say distinguished and interest-
ing— in her appearance, but by no means amiable — a
woman liable to take strong prejudices, I should fancy,
and stick to them through thick and thin, twisting
everything into conformity with her own preconceived
opinions — too hard, too sharp, too bitter for my taste.”

He made no reply, but looked down and bit his lip,
and shortly after rose and sauntered up to Miss Wilson,
as much repelled by me, I fancy, as attracted by her.
I scarcely noticed it at the time, but afterwards, I was
led to recall this and other trifling facts, of a similar
nature, to my remembrance, when — but I must not
anticipate.

We wound up the evening with dancing — our worthy
pastor thinking it no scandal to be present on the
occasion, though one of the village musicians was en-
gaged to direct our evolutions with his violin. But

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL. 39

Mary Millward obstinately refused to join us ; and so
did Richard Wilson, though my mother earnestly
[ entreated him to do so, and even offered to be his
partner.

We managed very well without them, however.
With a single set of quadrilles, and several country
dances, we carried it on to a pretty late hour ; and at
length, having called upon our musician to strike up a
waltz, I was just about to whirl Eliza round in that
delightful dance, accompanied by Lawrence and Jane
Wilson, and Fergus and Rose, when Mr Millward
interposed with —

“ No, no, I don’t allow that ! Come, it’s time to
be going home.”

“ Oh, no, papa ! ” pleaded Eliza.

“ High time, my girl — high time ! Moderation in
all things, remember ! That’s the plan — ■* Let your
moderation be known unto all men ! ’ ”

But in revenge, I followed Eliza into the dimly-
lighted passage, where, under pretence of helping her
on with her shawl, I fear I must plead guilty to snatch-
ing a kiss behind her father’s back, while he was en-
veloping his throat and chin in the folds of a mighty
comforter. But alas ! in turning round, there was my
mother close beside me. The consequence was, that
no sooner were the guests departed, than I was doomed
to a very serious remonstrance, which unpleasantly
checked the galloping course of my spirits, and made
a disagreeable close to the evening.

“ Mv dear Gilbert,” said she, “ I wish you wouldn’t
do so! You lenow how deeply I have your advantage
at heart, how I love you and prize you above every-
thing else in the world, and how much I long to see
you well settled in life — and how bitterly it would
grieve me to see you married to that girl — or any other
in the neighbourhood. What you see in her I don’t

40

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

know. It isn’t only the want of money that I think
about — nothing of the kind — but there’s neither beauty,
nor cleverness, nor goodness, nor anything else that’s
desirable. If you knew your own value, as I do, you
wouldn’t dream of it. Do wait awhile and see ! If
you bind yourself to her, you’ll repent it all your life-
time when you look round and see how many better
there are. Take my word for it, you will.”

“ Well, mother, do be quiet ! — I hate to be lectured !
— I’m not going to marry yet, I tell you ; but — dear
me ! mayn’t I enjoy myself at all ? ”

“ Yes, my dear boy, but not in that way. Indeed,
you shouldn t do such things. You would be wrong-
ing the girl, if she were what she ought to be ; but I
assure you she is as artful a little hussy as anybody
need wish to see ; and you’ll get entangled in her
1 snares before you know where you are. And if you
J marry her, Gilbert, you’ll break my heart !— lo there’s
an end of it.”

“ Well, don’t cry about it, mother,” said I, for the
tears were gushing from her eyes ; “ there, let that kiss
efface the one I gave Eliza ; don’t abuse her any more,
and set your mind at rest ; for I’ll promise never- — that
is, I’ll promise to think twice before I take any impor-
tant step you seriously disapprove of.”

So saying, I lighted my candle, and went to bed,
considerably quenched in spirit.

IT was about the close of the month, that, yielding at
length to the urgent importunities of Rose, I accom-
panied her in a visit to Wildfell Hall. To our
surprise we were ushered into a room where the first

-o-

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

41

object that met the eye was a painter’s easel, with a
able beside it covered with rolls of canvas, bottles of
>il and varnish, palette, brushes, paints, &c. Leaning
igainst the wall were several sketches in various stages
)f progression, and a few finished paintings — mostly of
andscapes and figures.

“ I must make you welcome to my studio,” said Mrs
3-raham, “ there is no fire in the sitting-room to-day,
md it is rather too cold to show you into a place with
in empty grate.”

And disengaging a couple of chairs from the artistical
umber that usurped them, she bid us be seated, and
•esumed her place beside the easel — not facing it exactly,
)ut now and then glancing at the picture upon it while
;he conversed, and giving it an occasional touch with her
irush, as if she found it impossible to wean her attention
entirely from her occupation to fix it upon her guests,
[t was a view of Wildfell Hall, as seen at early
norning from the field below, rising in dark relief
igainst a sky of clear silvery blue, with a few red streaks
>n the horizon, faithfully drawn and coloured, and
rery elegantly and artistically handled.

“ I see your heart is in your work, Mrs Graham,”
)bserved I : “ I must beg you to go on with it ; for
f you suffer our presence to interrupt you, we shall be
:onstrained to regard ourselves as unwelcome intruders.”

“ Oh, no ! ” replied she, throwing her brush on to the
able, as if startled into politeness. “ 1 am not so beset
vith visitors, but that I can readily spare a few minutes
0 the few that do favour me with their company.”

“You have almost completed your painting,” said I,
approaching to observe it more closely, and surveying it
vith a greater degree of admiration and delight than I
:ared to express. “ A few more touches in the fore-
ground will finish it, I should think. But why have you
:alled it Fernley Manor, Cumberland, instead of Wild-

42

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

fell Hall, -shire ? ” I asked, alluding to the name

she had traced in small characters at the bottom of the
canvas.

But immediately I was sensible of having committed
an act of impertinence in so doing ; for she coloured
and hesitated ; but after a moment’s pause, with a kind
of desperate frankness, she replied —

“ Because I have friends — acquaintances at least —
in the world, from whom I desire my present abode to
be concealed ; and as they might see the picture, and
might possibly recognise the style, in spite of the false
initials I have put in the corner, I take the pre-
caution to give a false name to the place also, in order
to put them on a wrong scent, if they should attempt
to trace me out by it.”

“ Then you don t intend to keep the picture ? ” said
I, anxious to say anything to change the subject.

“ No ; I cannot afford to paint for my own amuse-
ment.”

“ Mamina sends all her pictures to London,” said
Aithui ; “ and somebody sells them for her there, and
sends us the money.”

In looking round upon the other pieces, I remarked a
pretty sketch of Lindenhope from the top of the hill ;
another view of the old hall, basking in the sunny haze of a
quiet summei afternoon ; and a simple but striking little
pictuie of a child brooding with looks of silent but deep
and sorrowful regret, over a handful of withered flowers,
with glimpses ofdark low hills and autumnal fields
behind it, and a dull beclouded sky above.

“You see there is a sad dearth of subjects,” observed
the fair artist. “ I took the old hall once on a moon-
light night, and I suppose I must take it again on a
snowy winter’s day, and then again on a dark cloudy
evening ; for I really have nothing else to paint. I

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

43

somewhere in the neighbourhood — Is it true? — and is
it within walking distance ? ”

“ Yes, if you don’t object to walking four miles — or
nearly so — little short of eight miles, there and back —
and over a somewhat rough, fatiguing road.”

“ In what direction does it lie ? ”

I described the situation as well as I could, and was
.entering upon an explanation of the various roads, lanes,
(and fields to be traversed in order to reach it, the goings
straight on, and turnings to the right and to the left,
when she checked me with —

“Oh, stop! — don’t tell me now: I shall forget
every word of your directions before I require them. I
shall not think about going till next spring ; and then,
perhaps, I may trouble you. At present we have the

winter before us, and ”

She suddenly paused, with a suppressed exclamation,
started up from her seat, and saying, “ Excuse me one
moment,” hurried from the room, and shut the door
behind her.

Curious to see what had startled her so, I looked
towards the window — for her eyes had been carelessly
cfixed upon it the moment L-r— J * 1 1 11

i _i • r j

holly-bush that stood betwee
oorch.

i “ It’s mamma’s friend,” said Arthur.

Rose and I looked at each other.

“1 don’t know what to make of her at all,”
whispered Rose.

The child looked at her in grave surprise. She
straightway began to talk to him on indifferent matters,
vhile I amused myself with looking at the pictures.
There was one in an obscure corner that I had not
>efore observed. It was a little child, seated on the
;rass with its lap full of flowers. The tiny features and

■die skirts of a man’s coat

44

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

r

large blue eyes, smiling through a shock of light brown
curls, shaken over the forehead as it bent above its
treasure, bore sufficient resemblance to those of the
young gentleman before me, to proclaim it a portrait of
Arthur Graham in his early infancy.

In taking this up to bring it to the light, I discovered
another behind it, with its face to the wall. I ventured
to take that up too. It was the portrait of a gentleman
in the full prime of youthful manhood — handsome
enough, and not badly executed, but, if done by the
same hand as the others, it was evidently some years
before ; for there was far more careful minuteness of
detail, and less of that freshness of colouring and
freedom of handling, that delighted and surprised me
in them. Nevertheless, I surveyed it with considerable
interest. There was a certain individuality in the
features and expression that stamped it, at once, a
successful likeness. The bright blue eyes regarded
the spectator with a kind of lurking drollery — you
almost expected to see them wink ; the lips — a little
too voluptuously full — seemed ready to break into a
smile ; the warmly-tinted cheeks were embellished with
a luxuriant growth of reddish whiskers ; while the bright
chestnut hair, clustering in abundant, wavy curls, tres-
passed too much upon the forehead, and seemed to
intimate that the owner thereof was prouder of his
beauty than his intellect — as, perhaps, he had reason
to be ; — and yet he looked no fool.

I had not had the portrait in my hands two minutes
before the fair artist returned.

“ Only some one come about the pictures/’ said she,
in apology for her abrupt departure. “ I told him to
wait.”

“ I fear it will be considered an act of impertinence,”
said I, “ to presume to look at a picture that the artist
has turned to the wall ; but may I ask ”-

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

45

“ It is an act of very great impertinence, sir ; and
therefore I beg you will ask nothing about it, for your
curiosity will not be gratified,” replied she, attempting
to cover the tartness of her rebuke with a smile ; but I
could see, by her flushed cheek and kindling eye, that
she was seriously annoyed.

“ I was only going to ask if you had painted it your-
self,” said I, sulkily resigning the picture into her
hands ; for without a grain of ceremony she took it
from me ; and quickly restoring it to the dark corner,
with its face to the wall, pTacecf the other against it as
before, and then turned to me and laughed.

But I was in no humour for jesting. I carelessly
turned to the window, and stood looking out upon the
desolate garden, leaving her to talk to Rose for a
minute or two ; and then, telling my sister it was time
to go, shook hands with the little gentleman, coolly
bowed to the lady, and moved towards the door. But,
having bid adieu to Rose, Mrs Graham presented her
hand to me, saying, with a soft voice, and by no means
a disagreeable smile* —

“ Let not the sun go down upon your wrath, Mr
Markham. Pm sorry I offended you by my
[abruptness.”

When a lady condescends to apologise, there is no
keeping one’s anger of course ; so we parted good
[friends for once; and this time I squeezed her hand
with a cordial, not a spiteful pressure.

Chapter

DURING the next four months I did not enter
Mrs Graham’s house, nor she mine ; but still
the ladies continued to talk about her, and
still our acquaintance continued, though slowly, tc

46 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

advance. As for their talk, 1 paid but little attention
to that (when it related to the fair hermit, I mean),
and the only information I derived from it was, that,
one fine frosty day, she had ventured to take her little
boy as far as the vicarage, and that, unfortunately,
nobody was at home but Miss Millward ; nevertheless,
she had sat a long time, and, by all accounts, they had
found a good deal to say to each other, and parted with
a mutual desire to meet again. But Mary liked
children, and fond mammas like those who can duly
appreciate their treasures.

But sometimes I saw her myself, not only when she
came to church, but when she was out on the hills
with her son, whether taking a long, purpose-like walk,
or — on special fine days— leisurely rambling over the
moor or the bleak pasture-lands surrounding the old
hall, herself with a book in her hand, her son gambolling
about her ; and on any of these occasions, when I ,
caught sight of her in my solitary walks or rides, or
while following my agricultural pursuits, I generally
contrived to meet or overtake her, for I rather liked to
see Mrs Graham, and to talk to her, and I decidedly
liked to talk to her little companion, whom, when once j
the ice of his shyness was fairly broken, I found to be
a very amiable, intelligent, and entertaining little fellow ;
and we soon became excellent friends — how much to
the gratification of his mamma I cannot undertake to
say. I suspected at first that she was desirous of throw-
ing cold water on this growing intimacy — to quench, as
it were, the kindling flame of our friendship — but dis-
covering, at length, in spite of her prejudice against me,
that I was perfectly harmless, and even well-intentioned,
and that, between myself and my dog, her son derived
a great deal of pleasure from the acquaintance that he
would not otherwise have known, she ceased to object,
ind even welcomed my coming with a smile.

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

47

As for Arthur, he would shout his welcome from
afar, and run to meet me fifty yards from his mother's
side. If I happened to be on horseback, he was sure
to get a canter or a gallop ; or, if there was one of the
draught horses within an available distance, he was
treated to a steady ride upon that, which served his
turn almost as well; but his mother would always
follow and trudge beside him — not so much, I believe,
to ensure his safe conduct, as to see that I instilled no
abjectionable notions into his infant mind, for she was
ever on the watch, and never would allow him to
ee taken out of her sight. What pleased her best of
ill was to see him romping and racing with Sancho,
wvhile I walked by her side— not, I fear, for Jove of my
:ompany (though I sometimes deluded myself with that
dea), so much as for the delight she took in seeing her
ion thus happily engaged in the enjoyment of those
ictive sports so invigorating to his tender frame, yet so
>eldom exercised for want of playmates suited to his
^ears ; and, perhaps, her pleasure was sweetened not a
ittle by the fact of my being with her instead of with
lim, and therefore incapable of doing him any injury
lirectly or indirectly, designedly or otherwise, small
hanks to her for that same.

But sometimes, I believe, she really had some little
^ratification in conversing with me ; and one bright
February morning, during twenty minutes' stroll along
he moor, she laid aside her usual asperity and reserve,
nd fairly entered into conversation with me, discoursing
/ith so much eloquence and depth of thought and
eeling on a subject happily coinciding with my own
leas, and looking so beautiful withal, that I went home
nchanted ; and on the way (morally) started to find
lyself thinking that, after all, it would, perhaps, be
etter to spend one's days with such a woman than
dth Eliza Millward ; and then, I (figuratively) blushed
3r my inconstancy.

48

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

On entering the parlour 1 found Eliza there with
Rose, and no one else. The surprise was not altogether
so agreeable as it ought to have been. We chatted
together a long time, but I found her rather frivolous,
and even a little insipid, compared with the more
matured and earnest Mrs Graham. Alas for human
constancy !

“ However,1 ” thought I, “I ought not to marry
f - Eliza, since my mother so strongly objects to it, and I
ought not to delude the girl with the idea that I
intended to do so. Now, if this mood continue, X
shall have less difficulty in emancipating my affections
from her soft yet unrelenting sway ; and, though Mrs
Graham might be equally objectionable, I may be per-
mitted, like the doctors, to cure a greater evil by a less,
for I shall not fall seriously in love with the young
widow, I think, nor she with me — that s certain but
if I find a little pleasure in her society I may surely be
allowed to seek it ; and if the star of her divinity be
bright enough to dim the lustre of Eliza s, so much the
better, but I scarcely can think it.”

And thereafter I seldom suffered a fine day to pass
without paying a visit to Wildfell about the time my
new acquaintance usually left her hermitage ; but so
frequently was I balked in my expectations of another
interview, so changeable was she in her times of coming
forth and in her places of resort, so transient were the
occasional glimpses I was able to obtain, that I felt half
inclined to think she took as much pains to avoid my
company as I to seek hers ; but this was too disagree-
able a supposition to be entertained a moment after it
could conveniently be dismissed.

One calm, clear afternoon, however, in March, as I
was superintending the rolling of the meadow-land, and
the repairing of a hedge in the valley, I saw Mrs
i Graham down by the brook, with a sketch-book in her

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

49

hand, absorbed in the exercise of her favourite art,
while Arthur was putting on the time with constructing
dams and breakwaters in the shallow, stony stream.
1 was rather in want of amusement, and so rare an
opportunity was not to be neglected ; so, leaving both
meadow and hedge, I quickly repaired to the spot, but
not before Sancho, who, immediately upon perceiving
his young friend, scoured at full gallop the intervening
space, and pounced upon him with an impetuous mirth
that precipitated the child almost into the middle of the
beck ; but, happily, the stones preserved him from any
serious wetting, while their smoothness prevented his
being too much hurt to laugh at the untoward event.

Mrs Graham was studying the distinctive characters
Df the different varieties of trees in their winter naked-
less, and copying, with a spirited, though delicate touch,
:heir various ramifications. She did not talk much, but
[ stood and watched the progress of her pencil : it was
i pleasure to behold it so dexterously guided by those
air and graceful fingers. But ere long their dexterity
became impaired, they began to hesitate, to tremble
slightly, and make false strokes, and then suddenly
:ame to a pause, while their owner laughingly raised
ler face to mine, and told me that her sketch did not
>rofit by my superintendence.

“ Then,” said I, “ I’ll talk to Arthur till you’ve
lone.” J

“ 1 should like to have a ride, Mr Markham, if
namma will let me,” said the child.

“ What on, my boy ? ”

“ I think there’s a horse in that field,” replied he,
iointing to where the strong black mare was pulling the
-oiler.

“ No, no, Arthur ; it’s too far,” objected his mother.

But I promised to bring him safe back after a turn
t two up and down the meadow ; and when she looked

I. D

50 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

at his eager face she smiled and let him go. It was
the first time she had even allowed me to take him so
much as half a field’s length from her side.

Enthroned upon his monstrous steed, and solemnly
proceeding up and down the wide, steep field, he looked
the very incarnation of quiet, gleeful satisfaction and
delight. The rolling, however, was soon completed ;
but when I dismounted the gallant horseman, and
restored him to his mother, she seemed rather dis-
pleased at my keeping him so long. She had shut up
her sketch-book, and been, probably, for some minutes
impatiently waiting his return.

It was now high time to go home, she said, and
would have bid me good evening, but I was not going
to leave her yet : I accompanied her half way up the
hill. She became more sociable, and I was beginning
to be very happy ; but, on coming within sight of the
grim old hall, she stood still and turned towards me
while she spoke, as if expecting I should go no further,
that the conversation would end here, and I should now
take leave and depart — as, indeed, it was time to do,
for “ the clear, cold eve ” was fast “ declining,” the
sun had set, and the gibbous moon was visibly brighten-
ing in the pale grey sky ; but a feeling almost of com-
passion riveted me to the spot. It seemed hard to
leave her to such a lonely, comfortless home. I looked
up at it. Silent and grim it frowned before us. A faint,
red light was gleaming from the lower windows of one
wing, but all the other windows were in darkness, and
many exhibited their black, cavernous gulfs, entirely
destitute of glazing or framework.

“Do you not find it a desolate place to live in?”
said I, after a moment of silent contemplation.

“ I do, sometimes,” replied she. “On winter even-
ings, when Arthur is in bed, and I am sitting there
alone, hearing the bleak wind moaning round me and

THE TENANT OF WILD FELL HALL. 5 1

howling through the ruinous old chambers, no books or
occupations can repress the dismal thoughts and appre-
hensions that come crowding in — but it is folly to give
way to such weakness, I know. If Rachel is satisfied
with such a life, why should not I ? — Indeed I cannot
be too thankful for such an asylum, while it is left
me.”

The closing sentence was uttered in an undertone,
as if spoken rather to herself than to me. She then bid
me good evening and withdrew.

I had not proceeded many steps on my way home-
wards, when I perceived Mr Lawrence, on his pretty
giey pony, coming up the rugged lane that crossed over
the hill-top. I went a little out of my way to speak to
him ; for we had not met for some time.

“ Was that Mrs Graham you were speaking to just
now ? ” said he, after the first few words of greeting
had passed between us.

“Yes”

66 Humph ! I thought so.” He looked contempla-
tively at his horse’s mane, as if he had some serious
cause of dissatisfaction with it, or something else.

“Well! what then?”

“ 0h> nothing ! ” replied he. “ Only, I thought
you disliked her,” he quietly added, curling his classic
lip with a slightly sarcastic smile,
i 66 Suppose I did ; mayn’t a man change his mind on
further acquaintance ? ”

u Yes, of course,” returned he, nicely reducing an
entanglement in the pony’s redundant hoary mane.
Then suddenly turning to me, and fixing his shy, hazel
eyes upon me with a steady, penetrating gaze, he added,
“ Then you have changed your mind ? ”

“ I can’t say that I have exactly. No ; I think I

=hold the same opinion respecting " her as before but

slightly ameliorated,”

52

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

“ Oh ! ” He looked round for something else to
talk about ; and glancing up at the moon, made some
remark upon the beauty of the evening, which I did not
answer, as being irrelevant to the subject.

“ Lawrence,” said I, calmly looking him in the face,
“are you in love with Mrs Graham ? ”

Instead of his being deeply offended at this, as I
more than half expected he would, the first start of
surprise at the audacious question was followed by a
tittering laugh, as if he was highly amused at the idea.

“ I in love with her ! ” repeated he. “What makes
you dream of such a thing ? ”

“ F rom the interest you take in the progress of my
acquaintance with the lady, and the changes of my
opinion concerning her. I thought you might be
jealous.”

He laughed again. “ Jealous ! no — but I thought
you were going to marry Eliza Mill ward ? ”

“You thought wrong, then; I am not going to
marry either one or the other — that I know of.”

“ Then I think you’d better let them alone.”

“ Are you going to many Jane Wilson ? ”

He coloured, and played with the mane again, but
answered —

“ No, I think not.”

“ Then you had better let her alone.”

She won’t let me alone — he might have said ; but
he only looked silly and said nothing for the space of
half a minute, and then made another attempt to turn
the conversation ; and, this time, I let it pass ; for he
had borne enough : another word on the subject would
have been like the last atom that breaks the camel’s
back.

I was too late for tea ; but my mother had kindly
kept the tea-pot and muffin warm upon the hob, and,
though she scolded me a little, readily admitted my

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

53

excuses ; and when I complained of the flavour of the
overdrawn tea, she poured the remainder into the slop-
basin, and bade Rose put some fresh into the pot, and
reboil the kettle, which offices were performed with
great commotion, and certain remarkable comments.

“ Well ! — if it had been me now, I should have had
no tea at all — if it had been Fergus, even, he would
have to put up with such as there was, and been told to
be thankful, for it was far too good for him ; but you,
we can’t do too much for you. It’s always so — if
there’s anything particularly nice at table, mamma winks
and nods at me, to abstain from it, and if I don’t attend
to that, she whispers, ‘Don’t eat so much of that,
Rose ; Gilbert will like it for his supper ’ — I’m nothing
at all. In the parlour, it’s ‘ Come, Rose, put away
your things, and let’s have the room nice and tidy
against they come in ; and keep up a good lire ; Gilbert
likes a cheerful lire.’ In the kitchen — ‘ Make that pie

a large one, Rose ; I dare say the boys’ll be hungry ;

and don’t put so much pepper in, they’ll not like it, I’m
sure ’ — or, ‘ Rose, don’t put so many spices in the pud-
ding, Gilbert likes it plain,’ — or, ‘ Mind you put plenty
of currants in the cake, Fergus likes plenty.’ If I say,
‘Well, mamma, I don’t,’ I’m told I ought not to
think of myself— ‘You know, Rose, in all household
matters, we have only two things to consider, first,
what’s proper to be done, and, secondly, what’s most
agreeable to the gentlemen of the house — anything will
do for the ladies.’ ”

“ And very good doctrine too,” said my mother.
“Gilbert thinks so, I’m sure.”

“Very convenient doctrine for us, at all events,”
said I ; “ but if you would really study my pleasure,
mother, you must consider your own comfort and con-
venience a little more than you do — as for Rose, I
have no doubt she’ll take care of herself ; and when-

54

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

ever she does make a sacrifice or perform a remarkable
act of devotedness, she’ll take good care to let me
know the extent of it. But for you, I might sink into
the grossest condition of self-indulgence and carelessness
about the wants of others, from the mere habit of being
constantly cared for myself, and having all my wants
anticipated or immediately supplied, while left in total
ignorance of what is done for me, — if Rose did not
enlighten me now and then ; and I should receive all
your kindness as a matter of course, and never know
how much I owe you.”

“ Ah ! and you never will know, Gilbert, till you’re
married. Then, when you’ve got some trifling, self-
conceited girl like Eliza Millward, careless of every-
thing but her own immediate pleasure and advantage, or
some misguided, obstinate woman like Mrs Graham,
ignorant of her principal duties, and clever only in what
concerns her least to know — then you’ll find the ,
difference.”

“ It will do me good, mother ; I was not sent into
the world merely to exercise the good capacities and
good feelings of others — v/as I ? — but to exert my own
towards them ; and when I marry, I shall expect to
find more pleasure in making my wife happy and com-
fortable, than in being made so by her : I would rather
give than receive.”

“ Oh ! that’s all nonsense, my dear. It’s mere boy’s
talk that ! You’ll soon tire of petting and humouring
your wife, be she ever so charming, and then comes
the trial.”

“ Well, then, we must bear one another’s burdens.”

u Then you must fall each into your proper place.
You’ll do your business, and she, if she’s worthy of
you, will do hers ; but it’s your business to please your-
self, and hers to please you. I’m sure your poor, dear
father was as good a husband as ever lived, and after

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

55

the first six months or so were over, I should as soon
have expected him to fly, as to put himself out of his
way to pleasure me. He always said I was a good
wife, and did my duty ; and he always did his — bless
him ! — he was steady and punctual, seldom found fault
without a reason, always did justice to my good dinners,
and hardly ever spoiled my cookery by delay — and
that’s as much as any woman can expect of any man.”
Is it so, Halford ? Is that the extent of your
domestic virtues ; and does your happy wife exact no
more ?

o

Chapter ftiffa)

NOT many days after this, on a mild sunny morn-
ing— rather soft under foot ; for the last fall of
snow was only just wasted away, leaving yet a
thin ridge, here and there, lingering on the fresh green
grass beneath the hedges ; but beside them already, the
young primroses were peeping from among their moist,
dark foliage, and the lark above was singing of summer,
and hope, and love, and every heavenly thing — I was
out on the hillside, enjoying these delights, and looking
after the well-being of my young lambs and their
mothers, when, on glancing round me, I beheld three
persons ascending from the vale below. They were
Eliza Millward, Fergus, and Rose; so I crossed the
field to meet them ; and, being told they were going to
Wildfell Hall, I declared myself willing to go with
them, and offering my arm to Eliza, who readily
accepted it in lieu of my brother’s, told the latter he
might go back, for I would accompany the ladies.

“ I beg your pardon ! ” exclaimed he. “ It’s the
ladies that are accompanying me, not I them. You
had all had a peep at this wonderful stranger but me.

56 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

and I could endure my wretched ignorance no longer
— come what would, I must be satisfied ; so I begged
Rose to go with me to the hall, and introduce me to
her at once. She swore she would not, unless Miss
Eliza would go too ; so I ran to the vicarage and
fetched her ; and we’ve come hooked all the way, as
fond as a pair of lovers — and now you’ve taken her
from me ; and you want to deprive me of my walk and
my visit besides. Go back to your fields and your
cattle, you lubberly fellow : you’re not fit to associate
with ladies and gentlemen, like us, that have nothing to
do but to run snooking about to our neighbours’ houses,
peeping into their private corners, and scenting out their
secrets, and picking holes in their coats, when we don’t
find them ready-made to our hands — you don’t under-
stand such refined sources of enjoyment.”

“ Can’t you both go ? ” suggested Eliza, disregarding
the latter half of the speech.

“ Yes, both, to be sure ! ” cried Rose ; “ the more
the merrier — and I’m sure we shall want all the cheer-
fulness we can carry with us to that great, dark, gloomy
room, with its narrow latticed windows, and its dismal
oM furniture — unless she shows us into her studio
again.”

So we went all in a body ; and the meagre old maid-
servant that opened the door, ushered us into an apart-
ment, such as Rose had described to me as the scene of
her first introduction to Mrs Graham, a tolerably spacious
and lofty room, but obscurely lighted by the old-fashioned
windows, the ceiling, panels, and chimney-piece of
grim black oak — the latter elaborately but not very
tastefully carved,— with tables and chairs to match, an
old bookcase on one side of the fireplace, stocked with
a motley assemblage of books, and an elderly cabinet
piano on the other.

The lady was seated in a stiff, high-backed, arm-

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

57

chair, with a small, round table, containing a desk and
a work-basket, on one side of her, and her little boy on
the other, who stood leaning his elbow on her knee, and
reading to her, with wonderful fluency, from a small
volume that lay in her lap ; while she rested her hand
on his shoulder, and abstractedly played with the long,
wavy curls that fell on his ivory neck. They struck
me as forming a pleasing contrast to all the surrounding
objects ; but of course their position was immediately
changed on our entrance. I could only observe the
picture during the few brief seconds that Rachel held
the door for our admittance.

I do not think Mrs Graham was particularly delighted
to see us : there was something indescribably chilly in
her quiet, calm civility, but I did not talk much to her.
Seating myself near the window, a little back from the
circle, I called Arthur to me, and he and I and Sancho
amused ourselves very pleasantly together, while the
two young ladies baited his mother with small talk, and
Fergus sat opposite, with his legs crossed, and his hands
in his breeches’ pockets, leaning back in his chair, and
staring now up at the ceiling, now straight forward at
his hostess (in a manner that made me strongly inclined
to kick him out of the room), now whistling sotto voce
to himself a snatch of a favourite air, now interrupting
the conversation, or filling up a pause (as the case might
be) with some most impertinent question or remark.
At one time it was —

“ It amazes me, Mrs Graham, how you could choose
such a dilapidated, rickety old place as this to live in.
If you couldn’t afford to occupy the whole house, and
have it mended up, why couldn’t you take a neat little
cottage ? ”

“ Perhaps I was too proud, Mr Fergus,” replied
she, smiling; “perhaps I took a particular fancy for
this romantic, old-fashioned place — but, indeed, it has

58 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

many advantages over a cottage. In the first place, you
see, the rooms are larger and more airy ; in the second
place, the unoccupied apartments, which I don’t pay
for, may serve as lumber-rooms, if I have anything to
put in them ; and they are very useful for my little boy
to run about in on rainy days when he can’t go out ; and
then there is the garden for him to play in, and for
me to work in. You see I have effected some little
improvement already,” continued she, turning to the
window. “ There is a bed of young vegetables in that
corner, and here are some snowdrops and primroses
already in bloom — and there, too, is a yellow crocus
just opening in the sunshine.”

“ But then how can you bear such a situation — your
nearest neighbours two miles distant, and nobody looking
in or passing by ?— Rose would go stark mad in such a
place. She can’t put on life unless she sees half-a-dozen
fresh gowns and bonnets a day — not to speak of the
faces within ; but you might sit watching at these win-
dows all day long, and never see so much as an old I
woman carrying her eggs to market.”

66 1 sure the loneliness of the place was not

one of its chief recommendations. I take no pleasure
in watching people pass the windows ; and I like to be
quiet.”

“ Oh ! as good as to say, you wish we would all of
us mind our own business, and let you alone.”

66 No, I dislike an extensive acquaintance ; but if I
have a few friends, of course I am glad to see them
occasionally. No one can be happy in eternal solitude.
Therefore, Mr Fergus, if you choose to enter my house
as a friend, I will make you welcome ; if not, I must
confess, I would rather you kept away.” She then
turned and addressed some observation to Rose or Eliza.

And Mrs Graham,” said he again, five minutes
after, “ we were disputing, as we came along, a question

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

59

that you can readily decide for us, as it mainly regarded
yourself — and, indeed, we often hold discussions about
our neighbours’ concerns, and we, the indigenous plants
of the soil, have known each other so long, and talked
each other over so often, that we are quite sick of that
game ; so that a stranger coming amongst us makes an
invaluable addition to our exhausted sources of amuse-
ment. Well, the question, or questions, you are re-
quested to solve ”

“ Hold your tongue, Fergus ! ” cried Rose, in a
fever of apprehension and wrath.

“ I won’t, I tell you. The questions you are re-
quested to solve are these : — First, concerning your
birth, extraction, and previous residence. Some will
have it that you are a foreigner, and some an English-
woman ; some a native of the north country, and some
of the south ; some say ”

" Well, Mr Fergus, I’ll tell you. I’m an English-
woman— and I don’t see why any one should doubt it
— and I was born in the country neither in the extreme
north nor south of our happy isle ; and in the country
I have chiefly passed my life, and now, I hope, you are
satisfied ; for I am not disposed to answer any more
questions at present.”

“ Except this —

u No, not one more ! ” laughed she, and, instantly
quitting her seat, she sought refuge at the window by
which I was seated, and, in very desperation, to escape
my brother’s persecutions, endeavoured to draw me into
conversation.

“ Mr Markham,” said she, her rapid utterance and
heightened colour too plainly evincing her disquietude ;
“ have you forgotten the fine sea- view we were speaking
of some time ago ? I think I must trouble you, now,
to tell me the nearest way to it ; for if this beautiful
weather continue, I shall, perhaps, be able to walk there,

6o

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALE.

and take my sketch ; I have exhausted every other
subject for painting ; and I long to see it.”

I was about to comply with her request, but Rose
would not suffer me to proceed.

“ Oh, don’t tell her, Gilbert ! ” cried she ; " she

shall go with us. It’s Bay you are thinking

about, I suppose, Mrs Graham ? It is a very long
walk, too far for you, and out of the question for
Arthur. But we were thinking about making a picnic
to see it, some fine day ; and, if you will wait till the
settled fine weather comes, I’m sure we shall all be
delighted to have you amongst us.”

Poor Mrs Graham looked dismayed, and attempted
to make excuses, but Rose, either compassionating her
lonely life, or anxious to cultivate her acquaintance,
was determined to have her ; and every objection was
ovei ruled. She was told it would only be a small party,
and all friends, and that the best view of all was from
Cliffs, full five miles distant.

“Just a nice walk for the gentlemen,” continued
Rose ; “ but the ladies will drive and walk by turns ;
for we shall have our pony-carriage, which will be
plenty large enough to contain little Arthur and three
ladies, together with your sketching apparatus, and our
provisions.”

So the proposal was finally acceded to ; and, after
some further discussion respecting the time and manner
of the projected excursion, we rose, and took our leave.

But this was only March : a cold, wet April, and
two weeks of May passed over before we could venture
forth on our expedition with the reasonable hope of
obtaining that pleasure we sought in pleasant prospects,
cheerful society, fresh air, good cheer and exercise,
without the alloy of bad roads, cold winds, or threaten-
ing clouds. Then, on a glorious morning, we gathered
our forces and set forth. The company consisted of

THE TENANT OF WILD FELL HALL.

61

Mrs and Master Graha m, Mary and Eliza Mill ward,
Jane and Richard Wilson, and Rose, Fergus, and
Gilbert Markham.

Mr Lawrence had been invited to join us, but, for
some reason best known to himself, had refused to give
us his company. I had solicited the favour myself.
When I did so, he hesitated, and asked who were
going. Upon my naming Miss Wilson among the rest,
he seemed half inclined to go, but when I mentioned
Mrs Graham, thinking it might be a further inducement,
it appeared to have a contrary effect, and he declined it
altogether, and, to confess the truth, the decision was
not displeasing to me, though I could scarcely tell you
why.

It was about mid-day when we reached the place of
our destination. Mrs Graham walked all the way to
the cliffs ; and little Arthur walked the greater part of
it too ; for he was now much more hardy and active
than when he first entered the neighbourhood, and he
did not like being in the carriage with strangers, while
all his four friends, mamma, and Sancho, and Mr
Markham, and Miss Millward, were on foot, journey-
ing far behind, or passing through distant fields and
lanes.

I have a very pleasant recollection of that walk,
along the hard, white, sunny road, shaded here and
there with bright green trees, and adorned with flowery
banks, and blossoming hedges of delicious fragrance ;
or through pleasant fields and lanes, all glorious in the
sweet flowers and brilliant verdure of delightful May.
It was true, Eliza was not beside me ; but she was
with her friends in the pony-carriage, as happy, I
trusted, as I was ; and even when we pedestrians,
having forsaken the highway for a short cut across the
fields, beheld the little carriage far away, disappearing
amid the green, embowering trees, I did not hate those

62

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

trees for snatching the dear little bonnet and shawl
from my sight, nor did I feel that all those intervening
objects lay between my happiness and me ; for, to con-
fess the truth, I was too happy in the company of Mrs
Graham, to regret the absence of Eliza Millward.

The former, it is true, was most provokingly un-
sociable at first — seemingly bent upon talking to no
one but Mary Millward and Arthur. She and Mary
journeyed along together, generally with the child be-
tween them but where the road permitted. I always
walked on the other side of her, Richard Wilson taking
the other side of Miss Millward, and Fergus roving
here and there according to his fancy ; and after a
while she became more friendly, and at length I suc-
ceeded in securing her attention almost entirely to my-
self—and then I was happy indeed ; for whenever she
did condescend to converse, I liked to listen. Where
her opinions and sentiments tallied with mine, it was
her extreme good sense, her exquisite taste and feeling,
that delighted me ; where they differed, it was still her
uncompromising boldness in the avowal or defence of
that difference, her earnestness and keenness, that piqued
my fancy : and even when she angered me by her un-
kind words or looks, and her uncharitable conclusions
respecting me, it only made me the more dissatisfieJ
with myself for having so unfavourably impressed her,
and the more desirous to vindicate my character and
disposition in her eyes, and, if possible, to win her esteem.

At length our walk was ended. The increasing
height and boldness of the hills had for some time
intercepted the prospect ; but, on gaining the summit
of a steep acclivity, and looking downward, an opening
lay before us and the blue sea burst upon our sight !
— aeep violet blue— not deadly calm, but covered with
glinting breakers— diminutive white specks twinkling
on its bosom, and scarcely to be distinguished, by the

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

63

keenest vision, from the little sea-mews that sported
above, their white wings glittering in the sunshine :
only one or two vessels were visible : and those were
far away.

I looked at my companion to see what she thought
of this glorious scene. She said nothing : but she
stood still, and fixed her eyes upon it with a gaze that
assured me she was not disappointed. She had very
fine eyes, by-the-bye — I don’t know whether I’ve told
before, but they were full of soul, large, clear, and
nearly black — not brown, but very dark grey. A cool,
reviving breeze blew from the sea — soft, pure, salubrious:
it waved her drooping ringlets, and imparted a livelier
colour to her usually too pallid lip and cheek. She
felt its exhilarating influence, and so did I — I felt it
tingling through my frame, but dared not give way to
it while she remained so quiet. There was an aspect
of subdued exhilaration in her face, that kindled into
almost a smile of exalted, glad intelligence as her eye
met mine. Never had she looked so lovely: never
had my heart so warmly cleaved to her as now. Had
we been left two minutes longer, standing there alone, I
cannot answer for the consequences. Happily for my
discretion, perhaps for my enjoyment during the re-
mainder of the day, we were speedily summoned to
the repast — a very respectable collation, which Rose,
assisted by Miss Wilson and Eliza, who, having shared
her seat in the carriage, had arrived with her a little
before the rest, had set out upon an elevated platform
overlooking the sea, and sheltered from the hot sun by
a shelving rock and overhanging trees.

Mrs Graham seated herself at a distance from me.
Eliza was my nearest neighbour. She exerted herself
to be agreeable, in her gentle, unobtrusive way, and
was, no doubt, as fascinating and charming as ever, if
I could only have felt it. But soon, my heart began

64 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

to warm towards her once again; and we were all
very merry and happy together— as far as I could see

throughout the protracted, social meal.

When that was over, Rose summoned Fergus to
help her to gather up the fragments, and the knives,
dishes, &c., and restore them to the baskets ; and Mrs
Giaham took her camp-stool and drawing materials ;
and having begged Miss Millward to take charge of her
piecious son, and strictly enjoined him not to wander
from his new guardian’s side, she left us, and proceeded
along the steep, stony hill, to a loftier, more precipitous
eminence at some distance, whence a still liner prospect
was to be had, where she preferred taking her sketch,
though some of the ladies told her it was a frightful
place, and advised her not to attempt it.

When she was gone, I felt as if there was to be no
more fun — though it was difficult to say what she had
contributed to the hilarity of the party. No jests, and
little laughter, had escaped her lips ; but her smile
had animated my mirth, a keen observation or a cheerful
word from her had insensibly sharpened my wits, and
thrown an interest over all that was done and said by
the rest. Even my conversation with Eliza had been
enlivened by her presence, though I knew it not ; and
now that she was gone, Eliza’s playful nonsense ceased
to amuse me — nay, grew wearisome to my soul, and I
grew weary of amusing her : I felt myself drawn by an
irresistible attraction to that distant point where the fair
artist sat and plied her solitary task — and not long did I
attempt to resist it: while my little neighbour was
exchanging a few words with Miss Wilson, I rose and
cannily slipped away. A few rapid strides, and a little
active clambering, soon brought me to the place where
she was seated — a narrow ledge of rock at the very
verge of the cliff, which descended with a steep,
piecipitous slant, quite down to the rocky shore.

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL. 65

She did not hear me coming : the falling of my
shadow across her paper, gave her an electric start ;
and she looked hastily round — any other lady of my
acquaintance would have screamed under such a sudden
'alarm.

“ Oh ! I didn't know it was you. — Why did you
startle me so ? ” said she, somewhat testily. “I hate
anybody to come upon me so unexpectedly.”

“ Why, what did you take me for ? ” said I : “ if I
had known you were so nervous, I would have been
more cautious ; but ”

u Well, never mind. What did you come for ? are
they all coming ? ”

“ No ; this little ledge could scarcely contain them
all.”

“ I'm glad, for I'm tired of talking.”

“ Well, then, I won't talk. I'll only sit and watch
your drawing.”

“ Oh, but you know I don't like that.”

“ Then I'll content myself with admiring this
magnificent prospect.”

She made no objection to this ; and, for some time,
sketched away in silence. But I could not help stealing
a glance, now and then, from the splendid view at our
feet to the elegant white hand that held the pencil, and
the graceful neck and glossy raven curls that drooped
over the paper.

“ Now,” thought I, “ if 1 had but a pencil and a
morsel of paper, I could make a lovelier sketch than
hers, admitting I had the power to delineate faithfully
what is before me.”

But though this satisfaction was denied me, I was
very well content to sit beside her there, and say
nothing.

“ Are you there still, Mr Markham r ” said she
at length, looking round upon me — for I was seated

I. E

66

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

a little behind on a mossy projection of the cliff. —
“Why don’t you go and amuse yourself with your
friends?”

“ Because I am tired of them, like you ; and I shall
have enough of them to-morrow — or at any time hence ;
but you I may not have the pleasure of seeing again for
I know not how long.”

“ What was Arthur doing when you came away ? ”

“ He was with Miss Millward where you left him —
all right, but hoping mamma would not be long away.
You didn’t entrust him to me, by-the-bye,” I grumbled,
“ though I had the honour of a much longer acquaint-
ance ; but Miss Millward has the art of conciliating and
amusing children,” I carelessly added, “ if she is good
for nothing else.”

“ Miss Millward has many estimable qualities, which
such as you cannot be expected to perceive or appre-
ciate. Will you tell Arthur that I shall come in a few
minutes ? ”

“ If that be the case, I will wait, with your per-
mission, till those few minutes are past ; and then I can
assist you to descend this difficult path.”

“ Thank you — I always manage best, on such
occasions, without assistance.”

“ But, at least, I can carry your stool and sketch-
book.”

She did not deny me this favour ; but I was rather
offended at her evident desire to be rid of me, and
was beginning to repent of my pertinacity, when she
somewhat appeased me by consulting my taste and
judgment about some doubtful matter in her drawing.
My opinion, happily, met her approbation, and
the improvement I suggested was adopted without
hesitation.

“ I have often wished in vain,” said she, “ for an-
other’s judgment to appeal to when I could scarcely

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL. 6j

ti ust the direction of my own eye and head, they having
been so long occupied with the contemplation of a single
object, as to become almost incapable of forming a
proper idea respecting it.”

“ That, replied I, “is only one of many evils to
which a solitary life exposes us.”

“ True,” said she ; and again we relapsed into
silence.

About two minutes after, however, she declared her
sketch completed, and closed the book.

On returning to the scene of our repast, we found all
the company had deserted it, with the exception of
three Mary Millward, Richard Wilson, and Arthur
Graham. The younger gentleman lay fast asleep with
his head pillowed on the lady’s lap ; the other was
seated beside her with a pocket edition of some classic
author in his hand. He never went anywhere without
such a companion wherewith to improve his leisure
moments : all time seemed lost that was not devoted to
study, or exacted, by his physical nature, for the bare
support of life. Even now, he could not abandon him-
self to the enjoyment of that pure air and balmy sun-
shine—that splendid prospect, and those soothing sounds,
the music of the waves and of the soft wind in the
sheltering trees above him — not even with a lady by his
side (though not a very charming one, I will allow)—
he must pull out his book and make the most of his
time while digesting his temperate meal, and reposing
his weary limbs, unused to so much exercise.

Perhaps, however, he spared a moment to exchange

a word or a glance with his companion now and then

at any rate, she did not appear at all resentful of his
conduct ; for her homely features wore an expression of
unusual cheerfulness and serenity, and she was studying
his pale, thoughtful face with great complacency when
we arrived.

68 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

The journey homeward was by no means so agreeable,
to me, as the former part of the day ; for now Mrs
Graham was in the carriage, and Eliza Millward was
the companion of my walk. She had observed my
preference for the young widow, and evidently felt
herself neglected. She did not manifest her chagrin by
keen reproaches, bitter sarcasms, or pouting sullen silence
— any or all of these I could easily have endured, or
lightly laughed away ; but she showed it by a kind of
gentle melancholy, a mild, reproachful sadness that cut
me to the heart. I tried to cheer her up, and apparently
succeeded in some degree, before the walk was over ;
but in the very act my conscience reproved me, knowing,
as I did, that, sooner or later, the tie must be broken,
and this was only nourishing false hopes, and putting off
the evil day.

When the pony-carriage had approached as near
Wildfell Hall as the road would permit — unless, indeed,
it proceeded up the long rough lane, which Mrs Graham
would not allow — the young widow and her son alighted,
relinquishing the latter’s seat to Rose ; and I persuaded
Eliza to take the driver’s place. Having put her com-
fortably in, bid her take care of the evening air, and
wished her a kind good-night, I felt considerably relieved,
and hastened to offer my services to Mrs Graham to
carry her apparatus up the fields, but she had already
hung her camp-stool on her arm and taken her sketch-
book in her hand ; and insisted upon bidding me adieu
then and there, with the rest of the company. But this
time, she declined my proffered aid in so kind and
friendly a manner that I almost forgave her.

■o

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

69

Chapter ftfij.(o)

SIX weeks had passed away. It was a splendid
morning about the close of June. Most of the
hay was cut, but the last week had been very
unfavourable ; and now that fine weather was come at
last, being determined to make the most of it, I had
gathered all hands together into the hayfield, and was
working away myself, in the midst of them, in my shirt-
sleeves, with a light, shady straw hat on my head, catch-
ing up armfuls of moist, reeking grass, and shaking it
out to the four winds of heaven, at the head of a goodly
file of servants and hirelings — intending so to labour,
from morning to night, with as much zeal and assiduity
as I could look for from any of them, as well to prosper
the work by my own exertion as to animate the workers
by my example — when lo ! my resolutions were over-
thrown in a moment, by the simple fact of my brother’s
running up to me and putting into my hand a small
parcel, just arrived from London, which I had been for
some time expecting. I tore off the cover, and disclosed
an elegant and portable edition of “ Marmion.”

“I guess I know who that’s for,” said Fergus, who
stood looking on while I complacently examined the
volume. “ That’s for Miss Eliza, now.”

He pronounced this with a tone and look so pro-
digiously knowing, that I was glad to contradict him.

“ You’re wrong, my lad,” said I ; and taking up my
coat, I deposited the book in one of its pockets, and
then put it on (/.<?., the coat). “ Now come here, you
idle dog, and make yourself useful for once ; ” I con-
tinued— “ Pull off your coat, and take my place in the
field till I come back.”

“ Till you come back ? — and where are you going,
pray ? ”

7° THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

“No matter where— the when is all that concerns
you ; and I shall be back by dinner, at least.”

“ Oh, ho ! and I’m to labour away till then, am I ?

and to keep all these fellows hard at it besides ?
Well, well ! I’ll submit— for once in a way.— Come,
my lads, you must look sharp : I’m come to help you
now : — and woe be to that man, or woman either, that
pauses for a moment amongst you — whether to stare
about him, to scratch his head, or blow his nose — no
pretext will serve— nothing but work, work, work in
the sweat of your face,” &c., &c.

Leaving him thus haranguing the people, more to
their amusement than edification, 1 returned to the
house, and having made some alteration in my toilet,
hastened away to Wildfell Hall with the book in my
pocket; for it was destined for the shelves of Mrs
Graham.

What, then, had she and you got on so well
together as to come to the giving and receiving of
presents ? ” — Not precisely, old buck ; this was my
first experiment in that line ; and I was very anxious
to see the result of it.

We had met several times since the Bay excur-

sion, and I had found she was not averse to my
company, provided I confined my conversation to the
discussion of abstract matters or topics of common
interest ; the moment I touched upon the sentimental
or the complimentary, or made the slightest approach to
tenderness in word or look, I was not only punished by
an immediate change in her manner at the time, but
doomed to find her more cold and distant, if not entirely
inaccessible, when next I sought her company. This
circumstance did not greatly disconcert me, however,
because I attributed it, not so much to any dislike of my
person, as to some absolute resolution against a second
marriage formed prior to the time of our acquaintance,

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

71

whether from excess of affection for her late husband,
or because she had had enough of him and the matri-
monial state together. At first, indeed, she had seemed
to take a pleasure in mortifying my vanity and crushing
my presumption — relentlessly nipping off bud by bud as
they ventured to appear ; and then, I confess, I was
deeply wounded, though, at the same time, stimulated
to seek revenge ; — but latterly, finding, beyond a doubt,
that I was not that empty-headed coxcomb she had at
first supposed me, she had repulsed my modest advances
in quite a different spirit. It was a kind of serious,
almost sorrowful displeasure, which I soon learnt care-
fully to avoid awakening.

“ Let me first establish my position as a friend,”
thought I, — “ the patron and playfellow of her son, the
sober, solid, plain-dealing friend of herself, and then,
when I have made myself fairly necessary to her com-
fort and enjoyment in life (as I believe I can), we’ll
see what next may be effected.”

So we talked about painting, poetry, and music,
theology, geology, and philosophy : once or twice I
lent her a book, and once she lent me one in return : I
met her in her walks as often as I could ; I came to
her house as often as I dared. My first pretext for
invading the sanctum was to bring Arthur a little
waddling puppy of which Sancho was the father, and
which delighted the child beyond expression, and, con-
sequently, could not fail to please his mamma. My
second was to bring him a book, which, knowing his
mother’s particularity, I had carefully selected, and
which I submitted for her approbation before presenting
it to him. Then, I brought her some plants for her
garden, in my sister’s name — having previously persuaded
Rose to send them. Each of these times I inquired
after the picture she was painting from the sketch taken
on the cliff, and was admitted into the studio, and asked
my opinion or advice respecting its progress.

7 2 THE TENANT OF WILD FELL HALL.

My last visit had been to return the book she had
lent me ; and then it was, that, in casually discussing
the poetry of Sir Walter Scott, she had expressed a
wish to see “ Marmion,” and I had conceived the
presumptuous idea of making her a present of it, and, on
my return home, instantly sent for the smart little
volume I had this morning received. But an apology
for invading the hermitage was still necessary ; so I had
furnished myself with a blue morocco collar for Arthur’s
little dog ; and that being given and received, with
much more joy and gratitude, on the part of the
receiver, than the worth of the gift or the selfish motive
of the giver deserved, I ventured to ask Mrs Graham
for one more look at the picture, if it was still there.

“ Oh, yes ! come in, ’ said she (for I had met them
in the garden). “ It is finished and framed, all ready
for sending away ; but give me your last opinion, and,
if you can suggest any further improvement, it shall be
— duly considered, at least.”

The picture was strikingly beautiful : it was the very
scene itself, transferred as if by magic to the canvas ;
but I expressed my approbation in guarded terms, and
few words, for fear of displeasing her. She, however,
attentively watched my looks, and her artist’s pride was
gratified, no doubt, to read my heartfelt admiration in
my eyes. But, while I gazed, I thought upon the
book, and wondered how it was to be presented. My
heart failed me ; but I determined not to be such a fool
as to come away without having made the attempt. It
was useless waiting for an opportunity, and useless
trying to concoct a speech for the occasion. The
more plainly and naturally the thing was done, the
better, I thought ; so I just looked out of the window
to screw up my courage, and then pulled out the book,
turned round, and put it into her hand, with this short
explanation — ■

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

73

66 You were wishing to see ‘ Marmion,’ Mrs Graham;
and here it is, if you will be so kind as to take it.”

A momentary blush suffused her face — perhaps a
blush of sympathetic shame for such an awkward style
of presentation : she gravely examined the volume on
both sides ; then silently turned over the leaves, knitting
her brows the while, in serious cogitation ; then closed
the book, and turning from it to me, quietly asked the
price of it — I felt the hot blood rush to my face.

“ Fm sorry to offend you, Mr Markham,” said she,
“ but unless I pay for the book, I cannot take it.” And
she laid it on the table.

“ Why cannot you ? ”

“ Because” — she paused, and looked at the
carpet.

“Why cannot you?” I repeated, with a degree of
irascibility that roused her to lift her eyes, and look me
steadily in the face.

“ Because I don’t like to put myself under obliga-
tions that I can never repay — I am obliged to you
already for your kindness to my son ; but his grateful
affection and your own good feelings must reward you
for that.”

“ Nonsense ! ” ejaculated I.

She turned her eyes on me again, with a look of
quiet, grave surprise, that had the effect of a rebuke,
whether intended for such or not.

“ Then you won’t take the book ? ” I asked, more
mildly than I had yet spoken.

“ I will gladly take it, if you will let me pay for it/'

I told her the exact price, and the cost of the carriage
besides, in as calm a tone as I could command — for,
in fact, I was ready to weep with disappointment and
vexation.

She produced her purse, and coolly counted out the
money, but hesitated to put it into my hand. Atten-

74

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

tively regarding me, in a tone of soothing softness, she
observed —

“ You think yourself insulted, Mr Markham — I wish

1 could make you understand that — that 1 ”

“ I do understand you, perfectly/’ I said. “ You
think that if you were to accept that trifle from me now,
I should presume upon it hereafter ; but you are mis-
taken : — if you will only oblige me by taking it, believe
me, I shall build no hopes upon it, and consider this no
precedent for future favours : — and it is nonsense to talk
about putting yourself under obligations to me when you
must know that in such a case the obligation is entirely
on my side, — the favour on yours.”

“Well, then, I'll take you at your word,” she
answered, with a most angelic smile, returning the
odious money to her purse — “ but remember ! ”

“ I will remember — what I have said ; — but do not
you punish my presumption by withdrawing your friend-
ship entirely from me, — or expect me to atone for it by
being more distant than before,” said I, extending my
hand to take leave, for I was too much excited to remain.

“Well then! let us be as we were,” replied she,
frankly placing her hand in mine ; and while I held it
there, I had much difficulty to refrain from pressing it
to my lips ; — but that would be suicidal madness ; I had
been bold enough already, and this premature offering
had well-nigh given the death-blow to my hopes.

It was with an agitated burning heart and brain that
I hurried homewards, regardless of that scorching noon-
day sun — forgetful of everything but her I had just left
— regretting nothing but her impenetrability, and my
own precipitancy and want of tact — fearing nothing but

her hateful resolution, and my inability to overcome it

hoping nothing But halt, — I will not bore you with

my conflicting hopes and fears — my serious cogitations
and resolves.

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

75

Chapter

THOUGH my affections might now be said to be
fairly weaned from Eliza Millward, I did not
yet entirely relinquish my visits to the vicarage,
because I wanted, as it were, to let her down easy;
without raising much sorrow, or incurring much resent-
ment,— or making myself the talk of the parish ; and
besides, if I had wholly kept away, the vicar, who
looked upon my visits as paid chiefly, if not entirely, to
himself, would have felt himself decidedly affronted by
the neglect. But when I called there the day after my
interview with Mrs Graham, he happened to be from
home — a circumstance by no means so agreeable to
me now as it had been on former occasions. Miss
Millward was there, it is true, but she, of course, would
be little better than a nonentity. However, I resolved
to make my visit a short one, and to talk to Eliza in
a brotherly, friendly sort of way, such as our long
acquaintance might warrant me in assuming, and which,
I thought, could neither give offence nor serve to
encourage false hopes.

It was never my custom to talk about Mrs Graham
either to her or to any one else ; but I had not been
seated three minutes, before she brought that lady on to
the carpet herself, in a rather remarkable manner.

" Oh, Mr Markham ! ” said she, with a shocked
expression and voice subdued almost to a whisper,
“ what do you think of these shocking reports about
Mrs Graham ? — can you encourage us to disbelieve
them?”

“ What reports ? ”

“Ah, now! you know!” she slyly smiled and
shook her head.

“I know nothing about them. What in the world
do you mean, Eliza ? 99

7 6 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

“ Oh, don’t ask me ! I can’t explain it.” She took
up the cambric handkerchief which she had been beauti-
fying with a deep lace border, and began to be very busy.

“ What is it, Miss Mill ward ? what does she mean ?”
said I, appealing to her sister, who seemed to be absorbed
in the hemming of a large, coarse sheet.

“ I don’t know,” replied she. “ Some idle slander
somebody has been inventing, I suppose. I never heard
it till Eliza told me the other day, — but if all the parish
dinned it in my ears, I shouldn’t believe a word of it —
I know Mrs Graham too well ! ”

“ Quite right, Miss Mill ward ! — and so do I — what-
ever it may be.”

“ Well! ” observed Eliza, with a gentle sigh, “it’s
well to have such a comfortable assurance regarding the
worth of those we love. I only wish you may not find
your confidence misplaced.”

And she raised her face, and gave me such a look of
sorrowful tenderness as might have melted my heart,
but within those eyes there lurked a something that I
did not like ; and I wondered how I ever could have
admired them ; her sister’s honest face and small grey
optics appeared far more agreeable ; but I was out of
temper with Eliza, at that moment, for her insinuations
against Mrs Graham, which were false, I was certain,
whether she knew it or not.

I said nothing more on the subject, however, at the
time, and but little on any other; for, finding I could
not well recover my equanimity, I presently rose and
took leave, excusing myself under the plea of business
at the farm ; and to the farm I went, not troubling my
mind one whit about the possible truth of these mysteri-
ous reports, but only wondering what they were, by
whom originated, and on what foundations raised, and
how they could the most effectually be silenced or
disproved.

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

77

A few days after this, we had another of our quiet
little parties, to which the usual company of friends and
neighbours had been invited, and Mrs Graham among
the number. She could not now absent herself under
the plea of dark evenings or inclement weather, and,
greatly to my relief, she came. Without herJLghould
have found, ihe^ wiiole^affair. an intolerableThore ; but
the . ^rriYal brought new life, to the house,

and though I must not neglect the other guests for her,
or expect to engross much of her attention and con-
versation to myself alone, I anticipated an evening of
no common enjoyment.

Mr Lawrence came too. He did not arrive till
some time after the rest were assembled. I was curious
to see how he would comport himself to Mrs Graham.
A slight bow was all that passed between them on his
entrance ; and having politely greeted the other members
of the company, he seated himself quite aloof from the
young widow, between my mother and Rose.

“ Did you ever see such art ? ” whispered Eliza,
who was my nearest neighbour. “ Would you not say
they were perfect strangers ? ”

“ Almost ; but what then ? ”

“What then ! why, you can't pretend to be ignor-
ant?”

“ Ignorant of what ? ” demanded I, so sharply that
she started and replied —

“ Oh, hush ! don’t speak so loud.”

“Well, tell me then,” I answered in a lower tone,
“ what is it you mean ? I hate enigmas.”

“Well, you know, I don’t vouch for the truth of it

— indeed, far from it — but haven’t you heard ”

“ I’ve heard nothing, except from you.”

“ You must be wilfully deaf then, for any one will
tell you that ; but I shall only anger you by repeating
it, I see, so I had better hold my tongue.”

78 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

She closed her lips and folded her hands before her
with an air of injured meekness.

“If you had wished not to anger me, you should
have held your tongue from the beginning ; or else
spoken out plainly and honestly all you had to say.”

She turned aside her face, pulled out her handkerchief,
rose and went to the window, where she stood for some
time, evidently dissolved in tears. I was astounded,
provoked, ashamed — not so much of my harshness as
for her childish weakness. However, no one seemed to
notice her, and shortly after we were summoned to the
tea-table ; in those parts it was customary to sit to the
table at tea-time, on all occasions, and make a meal of
it, for we dined early. On taking my seat, I had Rose
on one side of me, and an empty chair on the other.

“ May I sit by you ? ” said a soft voice at my
elbow.

“ If you like,” was the reply ; and Eliza slipped
into the vacant chair ; then looking up into my face
with a half-sad, half-playful smile, she whispered —

“ You’re so stern, Gilbert.”

I handed down her tea with a slightly contemptuous
smile, and said nothing, for I had nothing to say.

“ What have I done to offend you ? ” said she, more
plaintively. “ I wish I knew.”

“ Come, take your tea, Eliza, and don’t be foolish,”
responded I, handing her the sugar and cream.

Just then, there arose a slight commotion on the other
side of me, occasioned by Miss Wilson’s coming to
negotiate an exchange of seats with Rose.

“ Will you be so good as to exchange places with me,
Miss Markham ? ” said she, “ for I don’t like to sit by
Mrs Graham. If your mamma thinks proper to invite
such persons to her house, she cannot object to her
daughter’s keeping company with them.”

This latter clause was added in a sort of soliloquy

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

when Rose was gone ; but I was not polite enough to
let it pass.

“ Will you be so good as to tell me what you mean,
Miss Wilson ? ” said I.

The question startled her a little, but not much.

“ Why, Mr Markham,” replied she coolly, having
quickly recovered her self-possession, “ it surprises me
rather that Mrs Markham should invite such a person
as Mrs Graham to her house ; but, perhaps, she is not
aware that the lady’s character is considered scarcely
respectable.”

“ She is not, nor am I ; and therefore you will
oblige me by explaining your meaning a little further.”

“ This is scarcely the time or the place for such
explanations ; but I think you can hardly be so ignorant
as you pretend, you must know her as well as I do.”

“ I think I do, perhaps a little better ; and therefore,
if you will inform me what you have heard or imagined
against her, I shall perhaps be able to set you right.”

“ Can you tell me, then, who was her husband, or if
she ever had any ? ”

Indignation kept me silent. At such a time and
place I could not trust myself to answer.

“ Have you never observed,” said Eliza, “what a
striking likeness there is between that child of hers
and ”

“ And whom ? ” demanded Miss Wilson, with an
air of cold, but keen severity.

Eliza was startled ; the timidly spoken suggestion
had been intended for my ear alone.

“ Oh, I beg your pardon ! ” pleaded she, “ I may
be mistaken — perhaps I was mistaken.” But she
accompanied the words with a sly glance of derision
directed to me from the corner of her disingenuous
eye.

“There’s no need to ask my pardon, ’’replied her friend,

8S

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

“ but I see no one here that at all resembles that child,
except his mother; and when you hear ill-natured
reports, Miss Eliza, I will thank you, that is, I think
you will do well, to refrain from repeating them. I
presume the person you allude to is Mr Lawrence ; but
I think I can assure you that your suspicions, in that
respect, are utterly misplaced ; and if he has any
particular connection with the lady at all ( which no one
has a right to assert), at least he has (what cannot be
said of some others) sufficient sense of propriety to
withhold him from acknowledging anything more than
a bowing acquaintance in the presence of respectable
persons ; he was evidently both surprised and annoyed
to find her here.”

“ Go it ! ” cried Fergus, who sat on the other side
of Eliza, and was the only individual who shared that
side of the table with us, “ go it like bricks ! mind
you don’t leave her one stone upon another.”

Miss Wilson drew herself up with a look of freezing
scorn, but said nothing. Eliza would have replied, but
I interrupted her by saying as calmly as I could, though
in a tone which betrayed, no doubt, some little of what
I felt within —

“We have had enough of this subject; if we can
only speak to slander our betters, let us hold our
tongues.”

“ I think you’d better,” observed Fergus, “and so
does our good parson ; he has been addressing the
company in his richest vein all the while, and eyeing
you from time to time, with looks of stern distaste,
while you sat there, irreverently whispering and muttering
together ; and once he paused in the middle of a story
or a sermon, I don’t know which, and fixed his eyes
upon you, Gilbert, as much as to say, ‘When Mr
Markham has done flirting with those two ladies I will
proceed.’ ”

f THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL. 8 1

What more was said at the tea-table I cannot tell,
nor how I found patience to sit till the meal was over.
I remember, however, that I swallowed with difficulty
the remainder of the tea that was in my cup and ate
nothing : and that the first thing I did was to stare
at Arthur Graham, who sat beside his mother on the
opposite side of the table, and the second to stare at
Mr Lawrence, who sat below $ and, first, it struck me
that there was a likeness ; but, on further contempla-
tion, I concluded it was only in imagination. Both,
it is true, had more delicate features and smaller bones
than commonly fall to the lot of individuals of the rougher
sex, and Lawrence’s complexion was pale and clear, and
Arthur’s delicately fair ; but Arthur’s tiny, somewhat
snubby nose could never become so long and straight as
Mr Lawrence’s ; and the outline of his face, though
not full enough to be round, and too finely converging
to the small, dimpled chin to be square, could never be
drawn out to the long oval of the other’s, while the
child’s hair was evidently of a lighter, warmer tint than
the elder gentleman’s had ever been, and his large, clear,
blue eyes, though prematurely serious at times, were
utterly dissimilar to the shy hazel eyes of Mr Lawrence,
whence the sensitive soul looked so distrustfully forth,
as ever ready to retire within, from the offences of a
too rude, too uncongenial world. Wretch that I was
to harbour that detestable idea for a moment ! Did I
not know Mrs Graham ? Had I not seen her, con-
versed with her time after time? Was I not certain
that she, in intellect, in purity and elevation of soul,
was immeasurably superior to any of her detractors;
that she was, in fact, the noblest, the most adorable,
of her sex I had ever beheld, or even imagined to
exist ? Yes, and I would say with Mary Millward
(sensible girl as she was), that if all the parish, ay, or
all the world, should din these horrible lies in my ears,
I.

F

82

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

I would not believe them, for I knew her better than
they.

Meantime my brain was on fire with indignation, and
my heart seemed ready to burst from its prison with
conflicting passions. I regarded my two fair neigh-
bours with a feeling of abhorrence and loathing I
scarcely endeavoured to conceal. I was rallied from
several quarters for my abstraction and ungallant
neglect of the ladies ; but I cared little for that : all I
cared about, besides that one grand subject of my
thoughts, was to see the cups travel up to the tea-
tray, and not come down again. I thought Mr Mill-
ward never would cease telling us that he was no
tea-drinker, and that it was highly injurious to keep
loading the stomach with slops to the exclusion of more
wholesome sustenance, and so give himself time to finish
his fourth cup.

At length it was over ; and I rose and left the table
and the guests without a word of apology — I could
endure their company no longer. I rushed out to cool
my brain in the balmy evening air, and to compose my
mind or indulge my passionate thoughts in the solitude
of the garden.

To avoid being seen from the windows I went down
a quiet little avenue that skirted one side of the in-
closure, at the bottom of which was a seat embowered
in roses and honeysuckles. Here I sat down to think
over the virtues and wrongs of the lady of Wildfell
Hall ; but I had not been so occupied two minutes,
before voices and laughter, and glimpses of moving
objects through the trees, informed me that the whole
company had turned out to take an airing in the garder
too. However, I nestled up in a corner of the bowel
and hoped to retain possession of it, secure alike fror
observation and intrusion. But no — confound it-
there was some one coming down the avenue ! Wf

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

83

couldn’t they enjoy the flowers and sunshine of the open
garden, and leave that sunless nook to me, and the
gnats and midges.

But, peeping through my fragrant screen of the inter-
woven branches to discover who the intruders were (for
a murmur of voices told me it was more than one), my
vexation instantly subsided, and far other feelings
agitated my still unquiet soul ; for there was Mrs
Graham, slowly moving down the walk with Arthur
by her side, and no one else. Why were they alone ?
Had the poison of detracting tongues already spread
through all ; and had they all turned their backs upon
her ? I now recollected having seen Mrs Wilson, in
the early part of the evening, edging her chair close up
to my mother, and bending forward, evidently in the
delivery of some important, confidential intelligence ;
and from the incessant wagging of her head, the frequent
distortions of her wrinkled physiognomy, and the wink-
ing and malicious twinkle of her little ugly eyes, I judged
it was some spicy piece of scandal that engaged her
powers ; and from the cautious privacy of the communi-
cation I supposed some person then present was the
luckless object of her calumnies ; and from all these
tokens, together with my mother’s looks and gestures of
mingled horror and incredulity, I now concluded that
object to have been Mrs Graham. I did not emerge
fiom my place of concealment till she had nearly reached
the bottom of the walk, lest my appearance should drive
her away ; and when I did step forward she stood still
and seemed inclined to turn back as it was.

“ Oh, don’t let us disturb you, Mr Markham ! ” said
she. “ We came here to seek retirement ourselves, not
to intrude on your seclusion.”

“ I am no hermit, Mrs Graham — though I own it
looks rather like it to absent myself in this uncourteous
fashion from my guests.”

84 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

“ I feared you were unwell,” said she, with a look
of real concern.

“ I was rather, but it’s over now. Do sit here a
little and rest, and tell me how you like this arbour,”
said I, and lifting Arthur by the shoulders, I planted him
in the middle of the seat by way of securing his mamma,
who, acknowledging it to be a tempting place of refuge,
threw herself back in one comer while I took possession
of the other.

But that word refuge disturbed me. Had their
unkindness then really driven her to seek for peace in
solitude ?

“ Why have they left you alone ? 99 I asked.

“ It is I who have left them,” was the smiling re-
joinder. “ I was wearied to death with small talk —
nothing wears me out like that. I cannot imagine how
they go on as they do.”

I could not help smiling at the serious depth of her
wonderment.

“ Is it that they think it a duty to be continually
talking,” pursued she, “ and so never pause to think,
but fill up with aimless trifles and vain repetitions when
subjects of real interest fail to present themselves ? or
do they really take a pleasure in such discourse ? 99

“Very likely they do,” said I: “their shallow
minds can hold no great ideas, and their light heads are
carried away by trivialities that would not move a better-
furnished skull : and their only alternative to such dis-
course is to plunge over head and ears into the slough
of scandal— which is their chief delight.”

“ Not all of them, surely ? 99 cried the lady, astonished
at the bitterness of my remark.

“ No, certainly ; I exonerate my sister from such
degraded tastes, and my mother, too, if you included
her in your animadversions.”

“ I meant no animadversions against any one, and

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL. 85

certainly intended no disrespectful allusions to your
mother. I have known some sensible persons adepts in
that style of conversation when circumstances impelled
them to it ; but it is a gift I cannot boast the possession
of. I kept up my attention on this occasion as long as
I could, but when my powers were exhausted I stole
^away to seek a few minutes’ repose in this quiet walk.
I hate talking where there is no exchange of ideas or
sentiments, and no good given or receivecLY

u Well, said I, u if ever I trouble you with my
loquacity tell me so at once, and I promise not to be
offended ; for I possess the faculty of enjoying the

company of those I of my friends as well in silence

as in conversation.”

“ I don’t quite believe you ; but if it were so you
would exactly suit me for a companion.”

“ I am aU you wish, then, in other respects ? ”

“ No> 1 don’t mean that. How beautiful those little
clusters of foliage look, where the sun comes through
behind them ! ’’ said she, on purpose to change the subject.

And they did look beautiful, where at intervals the
level rays of the sun penetrating the thickness of trees
and shrubs on the opposite side of the path before us,
relieved their dusky verdure by displaying patches of
semi-transparent leaves of resplendent golden green.

“ I almost wish I were not a painter,” observed my
companion.

“ Wliy so ! one would think at such a time you
would most exult in your privilege of being able to
imitate the various brilliant and delightful touches of
nature.”

“ No ; for instead of delivering myself up to the full
enjoyment of them as others do, I am always troubling
my head about how I could produce the same effect
upon canvas ; and as that can never be done, it is mere
vanity and vexation of spirit.”

86 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

“ Perhaps you cannot do it to satisfy yourself, but
you may and do succeed in delighting others with the
result of your endeavours.”

« Well, after all I should not complain : perhaps few
people gain their livelihood with so much pleasure in
their toil as I do. Here is some one coming.”

She seemed vexed at the interruption.

“ It is only Mr Lawrence and Miss Wilson,” said
I, “ coming to enjoy a quiet stroll. They will not
disturb us.”

I could not quite decipher the expression on her
face ; but I was satisfied there was no jealousy therein.
What business had I to look for it ?

“ What sort of a person is Miss Wilson ? ” she
asked.

“ She is elegant and accomplished above the generality
of her birth and station ; and some say she is lady-like
and agreeable.”

“ I thought her somewhat frigid, and rather super-
cilious in her manner to-day.”

“Very likely she might be so to you. She has
possibly taken a prejudice against you, for I think she
regards you in the light of a rival.”

“ Me ! Impossible, Mr Markham ! ” said she,
evidently astonished and annoyed.

« Well, I know nothing about it,” returned I, rather
doggedly ; for I thought her annoyance was chiefly
against myself.

The pair had now approached within a few paces of
us. Our arbour was set snugly back in a corner before
which the avenue at its termination turned off into the
more airy walk along the bottom of the garden. As
they approached this, I saw, by the aspect of Jane
Wilson, that she was directing her companion’s atten-
tion to us ; and, as well by her cold, sarcastic smile as
by the few isolated words of her discourse that reached

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

87

me, I knew full well that she was impressing him with
the idea that we were strongly attached to each other.
I noticed that he coloured up to the temples, gave us
one furtive glance in passing, and walked on, looking
grave, but seemingly offering no reply to her remarks.

It was true, then, that he had some designs upon
Mrs Graham ; and, were they honourable, he would
not be so anxious to conceal them. She was blameless,
of course, but he was detestable beyond all count.

While these thoughts flashed through my mind, my
companion abruptly rose, and calling her son, said they
would now go in quest of the company, and departed
up the avenue. Doubtless she had heard or guessed
something of Miss Wilson’s remarks, and therefore it
was natural enough she should choose to continue the
tete-a-tete no longer, especially as at that moment my
cheeks were burning with indignation against my former
friend, the token of which she might mistake for a blush
of stupid embarrassment. For this I owed Miss Wilson
yet another grudge ; and still the more I thought upon
her conduct the more I hated her.

It was late in the evening before I joined the com-
pany. I found Mrs Graham already equipped for
departure, and taking leave of the rest, who were
now returned to the house. I offered, nay, begged to
accompany her home. Mr Lawrence was standing by
at the time conversing with some one else. He did not
look at us, but, on hearing my earnest request, he paused
in the middle of a sentence to listen for her reply, and
went on, with a look of quiet satisfaction, the moment
he found it was to be a denial.

A denial it was, decided, though not unkind. She
could not be persuaded to think there was danger for
herself or her child in traversing those lonely lanes and
fields without attendance. It was daylight still, and she
should meet no one ; or if she did, the people were

88

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

quiet and harmless she was well assured. In fact, she
would not hear of any one’s putting himself out of the
way to accompany her, though Fergus vouchsafed to
offer his services in case they should be more acceptable
than mine, and my mother begged she might send one
of the farming-men to escort her.

When she was gone the rest was all a blank or
worse. Lawrence attempted to draw me into con-
versation, but I snubbed him and went to another part
of the room. Shortly after the party broke up and he
himself took leave. When he came to me I was blind
to his extended hand, and deaf to his good-night till he
repeated it a second time ; and then, to get rid of him,
I muttered an inarticulate reply accompanied by a sulky
nod.

“ What is the matter, Markham ? ” whispered he.

I replied by a wrathful and contemptuous stare.

« Are you angry because Mrs Graham would not let
you go home with her ? ” he asked, with a faint smile
that nearly exasperated me beyond control.

But, swallowing down all fierce answers, I merely
demanded —

“ What business is it of yours ? ”

“ Why, none,” replied he, with provoking quietness ;
« only,” and he raised his eyes to my face, and spoke
with unusual solemnity, “ only let me tell you, Mark-
ham, that if you have any designs in that quarter they
will certainly fail ; and it grieves me to see you cherish-
ing false hopes, and wasting your strength in useless
efforts, for” —

« Hypocrite ! ” I exclaimed ; and he held his breath,
and looked very blank, turned white about the gills, and
went away without another word.

I had wounded him to the quick ; and I was glad
of it.

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

89

Chapter {D

WHEN all were gone, I learned that the vile
slander had indeed been circulated throughout
the company, in the very presence of the victim.
Rose, however, vowed she did not and would not be-
lieve it, and my mother made the same declaration,
though not, I fear, with the same amount of real,
unwavering incredulity. It seemed to dwell continually
on her mind, and she kept irritating me from time to
time by such expressions as — “ Dear, dear, who would
have thought it ! — Well ! I always thought there was
something odd about her. — You see what it is for
women to affect to be different to other people.” And
once it was —

“ I misdoubted that appearance of mystery from the
very first — I thought there would no good come of it ;
but this is a sad, sad business to be sure ! ”

“Why, mother, you said you didn’t believe these
tales,” said Fergus.

“No more I do, my dear ; but then, you know,
there must be some foundation.”

“ The foundation is in the wickedness and falsehood
of the world,” said I, “and in the fact that Mr
Lawrence has been seen to go that way once or twice
of an evening — and the village gossips say he goes to
pay his addresses to the strange lady, and the scandal-
mongers have greedily seized the rumour, to make it the
basis of their own infernal structure.”

“Well, but Gilbert, there must be something in her
manner to countenance such reports.”

“ Did you see anything in her manner ? ”

“ No, certainly ; but then you know, I always said
there was something strange about her.”

I believe it was on that very evening that I ventured

9o

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

on another invasion of Wildfell Hall. From the time
of our party, which was upwards of a week ago, I had
been making daily efforts to meet its mistress in her
walks ; and always disappointed (she must have managed
it so on purpose), had nightly kept revolving in my mind
some pretext for another call. At length, I concluded
that the separation could be endured no longer (by this
time, you will see, I was pretty far gone) ; and, taking
from the book-case an old volume that I thought she
might be interested in, though, from its unsightly and
somewhat dilapidated condition, I had not yet ventured
to offer it for perusal, I hastened away, — but not with-
out sundry misgivings as to how she would receive me,
or how I could summon courage to present myself with
so slight an excuse. But, perhaps, I might see her in
the field or the garden, and then there would be no
great difficulty : it was the formal knocking at the door,
with the prospect of being gravely ushered in by Rachel,
to the presence of a surprised, uncordial mistress, that so
greatly disturbed me.

My wish, however, was not gratified. Mrs Graham,
herself, was not to be seen ; but there was Arthur
playing with his frolicsome little dog in the garden. I
looked over the gate and called him to me. He
wanted me to come in ; but I told him I could not
without his mother’s leave.

“ I’ll go and ask her,” said the child.

“ No, no, Arthur, you mustn’t do that, — but if she’s
not engaged, just ask her to come here a minute : tell
her I want to speak to her.”

He ran to perform my bidding, and quickly returned
with his mother. How lovely she looked with her
dark ringlets streaming in the light summer breeze, her
fair cheek slightly flushed and her countenance radiant
with smiles! — Dear Arthur! what did I not owe to
you for this and every other happy meeting ?— Through

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

91

him, I was at once delivered from all formality, and
terror, and constraint. In love affairs, there is no
mediator like a merry, simple-hearted child — ever ready
to cement divided hearts, to span the unfriendly gulf of
custom, to melt the ice of cold reserve, and overthrow
the separating walls of dread formality and pride.

“ Well, Mr Markham, what is it ? ” said the young
mother, accosting me with a pleasant smile.

“ I want you to look at this book, and, if you please,
to take it, and peruse it at your leisure. I make no
apology for calling you out on such a lovely evening,
though it be for a matter of no greater importance.”

“ Tell him to come in, mamma,” said Arthur.

“ Would you like to come in ? ” asked the lady.

“ Yes ; I should like to see your improvements in
the garden.”

“ And how your sister’s roots have prospered in my
charge,” added she, as she opened the gate.

And we sauntered through the garden, and talked of
the flowers, the trees, and the book, — and then of other
things. The evening was kind and genial, and so was
my companion. By degrees, I waxed more warm
and tender than, perhaps, I had ever been before ;
but still, I said nothing tangible, and she attempted no
repulse ; until, in passing a moss rose-tree that I had
brought her some weeks since, in my sister’s name, she
plucked a beautiful half-open bud and bade me give it
to Rose.

“ May I not keep it myself? ” I asked.

“ No 5 but here is another for you.”

Instead of taking it quietly, I likewise took the hand
that offered it, and looked into her face. She let me hold
it for a moment, and I saw a flash of ecstatic brilliance
in her eye, a glow of glad excitement on her face — I
thought my hour of victory was come — but instantly
a painful recollection seemed to flash upon her ; a cloud

9 2 THE tenant of wildfell hall.

of anguish darkened her brow, a marble paleness
blanched her cheek and lip ; there seemed a moment of
inward conflict, — and with a sudden effort, she withdrew
her hand, and retreated a step or two back.

“ Now, Mr Markham,’’ said she, with a kind of
desperate calmness, “ I must tell you plainly, that I
cannot do with this. I like your company, because
I am alone here, and your conversation pleases me more
than that of any other person ; but if you cannot be
content to regard me as a friend — a plain, cold,
motherly, or sisterly friend, I must beg you to leave me
now, and let me alone hereafter — in fact, we must be
strangers for the future.”

u I will, then — be your friend, — or brother, or any-
thing you wish, if you will only let me continue to see
you ; but tell me why I cannot be anything more.”

There was a perplexed and thoughtful pause.

u Is it in consequence of some rash vow ? ”

“ It is something of the kind,” she answered —
“some day I may tell you, but at present you had
better leave me ; and never, Gilbert, put me to the
painful necessity of repeating what I have just now said
to you ! ” — she earnestly added, giving me her hand in
serious kindness. How sweet, how musical my own
name sounded in her mouth !

“ I will not,” I replied. “ But you pardon this
offence ? ”

“ On condition that you never repeat it.”

“ And may I come to see you now and then ? ”

“ Perhaps, — occasionally ; provided you never abuse
the privilege.”

“ I make no empty promises, but you shall
see.”

“ The moment you do, our intimacy is at an end,
that’s all.”

“ And will you always call me Gilbert ? — it sounds

THE TENANT OF W1LDFELL HALL.

93

more sisterly, and it will serve to remind me of our
contract.”

She smiled, and once more bid me go — and, at
length, I judged it prudent to obey ; and she re-
entered the house, and I went down the hill. But as
I went, the tramp of horses’ hoofs fell on my ear, and
broke the stillness of the dewy evening ; and, looking
towards the lane, I saw a solitary equestrian coming up.
Inclining to dusk as it was, I knew him at a glance : it
was Mr Lawrence on his grey pony. I flew across the
field — leaped the stone fence — and then walked down
the lane to meet him. On seeing me, he suddenly drew
in his little steed, and seemed inclined to turn back, but
on second thought, apparently judged it better to continue
his course as before. He accosted me with a slight bow,
and, edging close to the wall, endeavoured to pass on —
but I was not so minded : seizing his horse by the bridle,
I exclaimed —

“Now, Lawrence, I will have this mystery explained !
Tell me where you are going, and what you mean to do
— at once, and distinctly ! ”

“ Will you take your hand off the bridle ? ” said he
quietly — “ you’re hurting my pony’s mouth.”

“ You and your pony be ”

“ What makes you so coarse and brutal, Markham ?
I’m quite ashamed of you.”

“ You answer my questions — before you leave this
spot ! I will know what you mean by this perfidious
duplicity ! ”

“ I shall answer no questions till you let go the bridle,
— if you stand till morning.”

“Now then,” said I, unclosing my hand, but still
standing before him.

“ Ask me some other time, when you can speak like
a gentleman,” returned he, and he made an effort to
pass me again ; but I quickly re-captured the pony,

94

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

scarce less astonished than its master at such uncivil
usage.

“ Really, Mr Markham, this is too much ! ” said
the latter. “ Can I not go to see my tenant on
matters of business, without being assaulted in this
manner by ”

“This is no time for business, sir! — I’ll tell you,
now, what I think of your conduct.”

“ You’d better defer your opinion to a more con-
venient season,” interrupted he in a low tone — “ here’s
the vicar.”

And in truth, the vicar was just behind me, plodding
homeward from some remote corner of his parish. I
immediately released the Squire ; and he went on his
way, saluting Mr Mill ward as he passed.

“What, quarrelling, Markham?” cried the latter,
addressing himself to me, — “and about that young
widow I doubt,” he added, reproachfully shaking his
head. “ But let me tell you, young man,” (here he
put his face into mine with an important, confidential
air,) “she’s not worth it!” and he confirmed the
assertion by a solemn nod.

“ Mr Millward ! ” I exclaimed, in a tone of wrath-
ful menace that made the reverend gentleman look
round — aghast — astounded at such unwonted insolence,
and stare me in the face with a look that plainly said :
“What, this to me ? ” But I was too indignant to
apologise, or to speak another word to him : I turned
away, and hastened homewards, descending with rapid
strides the steep, rough lane, and leaving him to follow
as he pleased.

-o-

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

95

Chapter

YOU must suppose about three weeks past over.
Mrs Graham and I were now established
friends — or brother and sister as we rather
chose to consider ourselves. She called me Gilbert,
by my express desire, and I called her Helen, for I
had seen that name written in her books. I seldom
attempted to see her above twice a week ; and still
I made our meetings appear the result of accident as
often as I could — for I found it necessaiy to be ex-
tremely careful — and, altogether, I behaved with such
exceeding propriety that she never had occasion to
reprove me once. Yet I could not but perceive that
she was at times unhappy and dissatisfied with herself
or her position, and truly I myself was not quite con-
tented with the latter: this assumption of brotherly
nonchalance was very hard to sustain, and I often felt
myself a most confounded hypocrite with it all : I
saw too, or rather I felt, that, in spite of herself, ‘ 1
was not indifferent to her/ as the novel heroes modestly
express it, and while I thankfully enjoyed my present
good fortune, I could not fail to wish and hope for
something better in future ; but, of course, I kept such
dreams entirely to myself.

“Where are you going, Gilbert ? ” said Rose, one
evening, shortly after tea, when I had been busy with
the farm all day.

“To take a walk/’ was the reply.

“ Do you always brush your hat so carefully, and do
your hair so nicely, and put on such smart new gloves
when you take a walk ? ”

“ Not always ! ”

“You’re going to Wildfell Hall, aren’t you ?”

“ What makes you think so ? ”

g6 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

“ Because you look as if you were — but I wish you
wouldn’t go so often.”

“Nonsense, child! I don’t go once in six weeks —
what do you mean ? ”

“Well, but if I were you, I wouldn’t have so much
to do with Mrs Graham.”

“ Why, Rose, are you, too, giving in to the prevail-
ing opinion ? ”

“No,” returned she hesitatingly — “but I’ve heard
so much about her lately, both at the Wilsons and the
vicarage ; — and besides, mamma says, if she were a
proper person she would not be living there by herself
— anTclon’t you remember last winter, Gilbert, all that
about the false name to the picture ; and how she ex-
plained it — saying she had friends or acquaintances from
whom she wished her present residence to be concealed,
and that she was afraid of their tracing her out ; — and
then, how suddenly she started up and left the room
when that person came — whom she took good care not
to let us catch a glimpse of, and who Arthur, with such
an air of mystery, told us was his mamma’s friend ? ”

“ Yes, Rose, I remember it all ; and I can forgive
your uncharitable conclusions ; for perhaps, if I did
not know her myself, 1 should put all these things to-
gether, and believe the same as you do ; but thank God,
I do know her ; and I should be unworthy the name
of a man, if I could believe anything that was said
against her, unless I heard it from her own lips. — I
should as soon believe such things of you, Rose.”

“ Oh, Gilbert!”

“Well, do you think I could believe anything of the
kind, — whatever the Wilsons and Millwards dared to
whisper ? ”

“ I should hope not indeed ! ”

“ And why not ? — Because I know you — Well, and
I know her just as well.”

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

97

“ Oh, no ; you know nothing of her former life ;
and last year at this time, you did not know that such a
person existed.”

“No matter. There is such a thing as looking
through a person’s eyes into the heart, and learning
more of the height, and breadth, and depth of another’s
soul in one hour, than it might take you a lifetime to
discover, if he or she were not disposed to reveal it, or
if you had not the sense to understand it.”

“ Then you are going to see her this evening ? ”

“ To be sure I am ! ”

“ But what would mamma say, Gilbert ? ”

“ Mamma needn’t know.”

“ But she must know some time, if you go on.”

“ Go on ! — there’s no going on in the matter. Mrs
Graham and I are two friends — and will be ; and no
man breathing shall hinder it, — or has a right to interfere
between us.”

“ But if you knew how they talk, you would be more
careful, for her sake as well as for your own. Jane
Wilson thinks your visits to the old hall but another

proof of her depravity ”

“ Confound Jane Wilson ! ”

“ And Eliza Millward is quite grieved about you.”

“ I hope she is.”

“ But I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

“ Wouldn’t what ? How do they know that I go
there ? ”

“ There’s nothing hid from them : they spy out
everything.”

“ Oh, I never thought cf this ! — And so they dare
to turn my friendship into food for further scandal
against her ! — That proves the falsehood of their other
lies, at all events, if any proof were wanting. — Mind you
contradict them, Rose, whenever you can.”

“But they don’t speak openly to me about such
I. G

i

I

98 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

things : it is only by hints and innuendos, and by what
I hear others say, that I knew what they think.”

“ Well then, I won’t go to-day, as it’s getting latish.
But oh, deuce take their cursed envenomed tongues ! ”
I muttered, in the bitterness of my soul.

And just at that moment the vicar entered the room :
we had been too much absorbed in our conversation to
observe his knock. After his customary, cheerful, and
fatherly greeting of Rose, who was rather a favourite
with the old gentleman, he turned somewhat sternly to
me —

“Well, sir,” said he, “you’re quite a stranger. It
is — let — me — see,” he continued slowly, as he deposited
his ponderous bulk in the arm-chair that Rose officiously
brought towards him, “ it is just — six — weeks — by my
reckoning, since you darkened — my — door ! ” He
spoke it with emphasis, and struck his stick on the floor.

“ Is it, sir ? ” said I.

“ Ay ! It is so ! ” He added an affirmatory nod,
and continued to gaze upon me with a kind of irate
solemnity, holding his substantial stick between his
knees, with his hands clasped upon his head.

“ I have been busy,” I said, for an apology was
evidently demanded.

“ Busy,” repeated he derisively.

“ Yes, you know I’ve been getting in my hay ; and
now the harvest is beginning.”

“ Humph.”

Just then my mother came in, and created a diversion
in my favour by her loquacious and animated welcome
of the reverend guest. She regretted deeply that he
had not come a little earlier, in time for tea, but offered
to have some
the favour to ^

“ Not any for me, I thank you,” replied he ; “I
shall be at home in a few minutes.”

immediately prepared, if he would do her
partake of it.

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL. 99

" Oh, but do stay and take a little ! it will be ready
in five minutes.”

But he rejected the offer, with a majestic wave of
his hand.

“ I’ll tell you what I’ll take, Mrs Markham,” said
he : “ I’ll take a glass of your excellent ale.”

“ With pleasure i ” cried my mother, proceeding
with alacrity to pull the bell and order the favoured
beverage.

“ I thought,” continued he, “ I*d just look in upon
you as I passed, and taste your home-brewed ale. l?ve
been to call on Mrs Graham.”

" Have you, indeed ? ”

He nodded gravely, and added with awful emphasis —

“ I thought it incumbent upon me to do so.”

“ Really ! ” ejaculated my mother.

“ Why so, Mr Mill ward ? ” asked I. He looked
at me with some severity, and turning again to my
mother, repeated —

“ 1 thought it incumbent upon me ! ” and struck his
stick on the floor again. My mother sat opposite, an
awe-struck but admiring auditor.

“ ‘ Mrs Graham/ said I,” he continued, shaking
his head as he spoke, “ c these are terrible reports ! 9
* What, sir ? 9 says she, affecting to be ignorant of my
meaning. 4 It is my — duty — as — your pastor/ said I,

‘ to tell you both everything that I myself see repre-
hensible in your conduct, and all I have reason to suspect,
and what others tell me concerning you.’ — So I told
her ! ”

“ You did, sir ? ” cried I, starting from my seat, and
striking my fist on the table. He merely glanced
towards me, and continued, addressing his hostess —

“ It was a painful duty, Mrs Markham — but I told
her ! ”

“ And how did she take it ? ” asked my mother.

IOO THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

“ Hardened, I fear — hardened ! ” he replied, with a
despondent shake of the head ; “ and, at the same time,
there was a strong display of unchastened, misdirected
passions. She turned white in the face, and drew her
breath through her teeth in a savage sort of way ; — but
she offered no extenuation or defence ; and with a kind
of shameless calmness — shocking indeed to witness in
one so young — as good as told me that my remonstrance
was unavailing, and my pastoral advice quite thrown
away upon her — nay, that my very presence was dis-
pleasing while I spoke such things. And I withdrew
at length, too plainly seeing that nothing could be done —
and sadly grieved to find her case so hopeless. But 1
am fully determined, Mrs Markham, that my daughters
— shall — not — consort with her. Do you adopt the
same resolution with regard to yours! — As for your
sons — as for you, young man,” he continued, sternly
turning to me —

“ As for me, sir,” I began, but checked by some im-
pediment in my utterance, and finding that my whole
frame trembled with fury, I said no more, but took the
wiser part of snatching up my hat and bolting from the
room, slamming the door behind me, with a bang that
shook the house to its foundations, and made my mother
scream, and give a momentary relief to my excited
feelings.

The next minute saw me hurrying v/ith rapid strides
in the direction of Wildfell Hall — to what intent or
purpose I could scarcely tell, but I must be moving
somewhere, and no other goal would do — I must see
her too, and speak to her— that was certain ; but what
to say, or how to act, I had no definite idea. Such
stormy thoughts — so many different resolutions crowded
in upon me, that my mind was little better than a chaos
of conflicting passions.

•o

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

IOI

Chapter pij. [il)

IN little more than twenty minutes, the journey was
accomplished. I paused at the gate to wipe my
streaming forehead, and recover my breath and
some degree of composure. Already the rapid walking
had somewhat mitigated my excitement; and with a
firm and steady tread, I paced the garden walk. In
passing the inhabited wing of the building, I caught a
sight of Mrs Graham, through the open window, slowly
pacing up and down her lonely room.

She seemed agitated, and even dismayed at my arrival,
as if she thought I too was coming to accuse her. I
had entered her presence intending to condole with her
upon the wickedness of the world, and help her to abuse
the vicar and his vile informants, but now I felt posi-
tively ashamed to mention the subject, and determined
not to refer to it, unless she led the way.

“ I am come at an unseasonable hour,” said I, assum-
ing a cheerfulness I did not feel, in order to reassure
her ; “ but I won’t stay many minutes.”

She smiled upon me, faintly it is true, but most kindly
— I had almost said thankfully, as her apprehensions
were removed.

“ How dismal you are, Helen ! Why have you
no fire?” I said, looking round on the gloomy
apartment.

“ It is summer yet,” she replied.

“ But we always have a fire in the evenings, if we
can bear it ; and you especially require one in this cold
house and dreary room.”

“ You should have come a little sooner, and I would
have had one lighted for you ; but it is not worth while
now, you won’t stay many minutes, you say, and Arthur
is gone to bed.”

102

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

“ But I have a fancy for a fire, nevertheless. Will
you order one, if I ring ? ”

“ Why, Gilbert, you don’t look cold?” said she
smilingly regarding my face, which no doubt seemed
warm enough.

" No,” replied I, “ but I want to see you comfort-
able before I go.”

“ Me comfortable ! ” repeated she, with a bitter laugh,
as if there were something amusingly absurd in the idea.
“ It suits me better as it is,” she added, in a tone of
mournful resignation.

But determined to have my own way, I pulled the
bell.

“ There now, Helen ! ” I said, as the approaching
steps of Rachel were heard in answer to the summons.
There was nothing for it but to turn round and desire
the maid to light the fire.

I owe Rachel a grudge to this day, for the look she
cast upon me ere she departed on her mission, the sour,
suspicious, inquisitorial look that plainly demanded,
“ what are you here for, I wonder ? ” Her mistress
did not fail to notice it, and a shade of uneasiness
darkened her brow.

“ You must not stay long, Gilbert,” said she, when
the door was closed upon us.

“ I’m not going to,” said I, somewhat testily, though
without a grain of anger in my heart against any
one but the meddling old woman. “ But, Helen, I’ve
something to say to you before I go.”

“ What is it ? ”

“ No, not now — I don’t know yet precisely what it
is, or how to say it,” replied I, with more truth than
wisdom ; and then, fearing lest she should turn me out
of the house, I began talking about indifferent matters
in order to gain time. Meanwhile Rachel came in to
kindle the fire, which was soon effected by thrusting a

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

IO3

red-hot poker between the bars of the grate, where the
fuel was already disposed for ignition. She honoured
me with another of her hard, inhospitable looks in de-
parting, but, little moved thereby, I went on talking;
and setting a chair for Mrs Graham on one side of the
hearth, and one for myself on the other, I ventured to
sit down, though half suspecting she would rather see
me go.

In a little while we both relapsed into silence, and
continued for several minutes gazing abstractedly into
the fire — she intent upon her own sad thoughts, and I
reflecting how delightful it would be to be seated thus
beside her with no other presence to restrain our inter-
course— not even that of Arthur, our mutual friend,
without whom we had never met before — if only I could
venture to speak my mind, and disburden my full heart
of the feelings that had so long oppressed it, and which
it now struggled to retain, with an effort that it seemed
impossible to continue much longer, — and revolving the
pros and cons for opening my heart to her there and
then, and imploring a return of affection, the permission
to regard her thenceforth as my own, and the right and
the power to defend her from the calumnies of malicious
tongues. On the one hand, I felt a new-born confidence
in my powers of persuasion — a strong conviction that
my own fervour of spirit would grant me eloquence —
that my very determination — the absolute necessity for
succeeding, that I felt must win me what I sought ;
while on the other, I feared to lose the ground I had
already gained with so much toil and skill, and destroy
all future hope by one rash effort, when time and
patience might have won success. It was like setting
my life upon the cast of a die ; and yet I was ready to
resolve upon the attempt. At any rate, I would
entreat the explanation she had half promised to give
me before ; I would demand the reason of this hateful

io4

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

barrier, this mysterious impediment to my happiness,
and, as I trusted, to her own.

But while I considered in what manner I could best
frame my request, my companion wakened from her
reverie with a scarcely audible sigh, and looking towards
the window where the blood-red harvest moon, just
rising over one of the grim, fantastic evergreens, was
shining in upon us, said —

“ Gilbert, it is getting late.”

“ I see,” said I. “ You want me to go, I suppose.”

“ I think you ought. If my kind neighbours get to
know of this visit — as no doubt they will — they will
not turn it much to my advantage.”

It was with what the vicar would doubtless have
called a savage sort of a smile that she said this.

“ Let them turn it as they will,” said I. “ What
are their thoughts to you or me, so long as we are
satisfied with ourselves — and each other. Let them go
to the deuce with their vile constructions, and their
lying inventions ! ”

This outburst brought a flush of colour to her face.

“ You have heard, then, what they say of me ? ”

“ I heard some detestable falsehoods ; but none but
fools would credit them for a moment, Helen, so don’t
let them trouble you.”

“ I did not think Mr Millward a fool, and he
believes it all ; but however little you may value the
opinions of those about you — however little you may
esteem them as individuals, it is not pleasant to be
looked upon as a liar and a hypocrite, to be thought to
practise what you abhor, and to encourage the vices you
would discountenance, to find your good intentions
frustrated, and your hands crippled by your supposed
unworthiness, and to bring disgrace on the principles
you profess.”

“True ; and if I, by my thoughtlessness and selfish

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL. 105

disregard to appearances, have at all assisted to expose
you to these evils, let me entreat you not only to pardon
me, but to enable me to make reparation ; authorise me
to clear your name from every imputation : give me the
right to identify your honour with my own, and to
defend your reputation as more precious than my life ! ”

“ Are you hero enough to unite yourself to one
whom you know to be suspected and despised by all
around you, and identify your interests and your honour
with hers ? Think ! it is a serious thing.”

“ I should be proud to do it, Helen ! — most happy
— delighted beyond expression ! — and if that be all the
obstacle to our union, it is demolished, and you must —
you shall be mine ! ”

And starting from my seat in a frenzy of ardour, I
seized her hand and would have pressed it to my lips,
but she as suddenly caught it away, exclaiming in the
bitterness of intense affliction —

“ No, no, it is not all ! ”

u What is it then ? You promised I should know
some time, and ” —

ct You shall know some time — but not now — my
head aches terribly,” she said, pressing her hand to her
forehead, u and I must have some repose — and surely,

I have had misery enough to-day ! ” she added, almost
wildly.

" But it could not harm you to tell it,” I persisted :

“ it would ease your mind ; and I should then know
how to comfort you.”

She shook her head despondingly. “ If you knew all,
you, too, would blame me — perhaps even more than I
deserve — though I have cruelly wronged you,” she
added in a low murmur, as if she mused aloud.

“ You, Helen ? Impossible ! ”

“ Yes, not willingly ; for I did not know the strength
and depth of your attachment. I thought — at least I

Io6 THE TENANT OF WILD FELL HALL.

endeavoured to think — your regard for me was as cold
and fraternal as you professed it to be.”

“ Or as yours ? ”

“ Or as mine — ought to have been — of such a light
and selfish, superficial nature that ” —

“ There, indeed, you wronged me.”

“ I know I did ; and sometimes, I suspected it then ;
but I thought, upon the whole, there could be no great
harm in leaving your fancies and your hopes to dream
themselves to nothing — or flutter away to some more
fitting object, while your friendly sympathies remained
with me; but if I had known the depth of your
regard, the generous disinterested affection you seem to

feel ”

“ Seem, Helen ? ”

“ That you do feel, then, I would have acted
differently.”

“How? You could not have given me less en-
couragement, or treated me with greater severity than
you did ! And if you think you have wronged me by
giving me your friendship, and occasionally admitting
me to the enjoyment of your company and conversation,
when all hopes of closer intimacy were vain — as indeed
you always gave me to understand — if you think you
have wronged me by this, you are mistaken ; for such
favours, in themselves alone, are not only delightful to
my heart, but purifying, exalting, ennobling to my soul ;
and I would rather have your friendship than the love
of any other woman in the world ! ”

Little comforted by this, she clasped her hands upon
her knee, and glancing upward, seemed, in silent anguish,
to implore divine assistance ; then turning to me, she
calmly said —

“ To-morrow, if you meet me on the moor about
mid-day, I will tell you all you seek to know ; and
perhaps you will then see the necessity of discontinuing

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

IO7

our intimacy — if, indeed, you do not willingly resign
me as one no longer worthy of regard.”

“ I can safely answer no, to that : you cannot have
such grave confessions to make — you must be trying my
faith, Helen.”

“ No, no, no,” she earnestly repeated — " I wish it
were so ! Thank heaven ! ” she added, “ I have no
great crime to confess : but I have more than you will
like to hear, or, perhaps, can readily excuse, — and more
than I can tell you now; so let me entreat you to
leave me!”

“ I will ; but answer me this one question first ; — do
you love me ? ”

“ I will not answer it ! ”

“ Then I will conclude you do ; and so good-night.”

She turned from me to hide the emotion she could
not quite control ; but I took her hand and fervently
kissed it.

“ Gilbert, do leave me ! ” she cried, in a tone of such
thrilling anguish that I felt it would be cruel to disobey.

But I gave one look back before I closed the door,
and saw her leaning forward on the table, with her
hands pressed against her eyes, sobbing convulsively ;
yet I withdrew in silence. I felt that to obtrude my
consolations on her then would only serve to aggravate
her sufferings.

To tell you all the questionings and conjectures —
the fears, and hopes, and wild emotions that jostled
and chased each other through my mind as I descended
the hill, would almost fill a volume in itself. But be-
fore I was half way down a sentiment of strong sympathy
for her I had left behind me had displaced all other
feelings, and seemed imperatively to draw me back : I
began to think, “ Why am I hurrying so fast in this
direction ? Can I find comfort or consolation — peace,
certainty, contentment, all — or anything that I want at

108 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL,

home ? and can I leave all perturbation, sorrow, and
anxiety behind me there ? ”

And I turned round to look at the old hall. There
was little besides the chimneys visible above my con-
tracted horizon. I walked back to get a better view of
it. When it rose in sight, I stood still a moment to
look, and then continued moving towards the gloomy
object of attraction. Something called me nearer —
nearer still — and why not, pray? Might I not find
more benefit in the contemplation of that venerable pile
with the full moon in the cloudless heaven shining so
calmly above it — with that warm yellow lustre peculiar
to an August night — and the mistress of my soul within,
than in returning to my home where all comparatively
was light, and life, and cheerfulness, and therefore
inimical to me in my present frame of mind, — and the
more so that its inmates all were more or less imbued
with that detestable belief the very thought of which
made my blood boil in my veins — and how could I
endure to hear it openly declared — or cautiously in-
sinuated— which was worse ? — I had had trouble
enough already, with some babbling fiend that would
keep whispering in my ear, “ It may be true,” till 1
had shouted aloud, “ It is false ! I defy you to make
me suppose it ! ”

I could see the red firelight dimly gleaming from her
parlour window. I went up to the garden wall, and
stood leaning over it, with my eyes fixed upon the
lattice, wondering what she was doing, thinking, or
suffering now, and wishing I could speak to her but
one word, or even catch one glimpse of her, before I
went.

I had not thus looked, and wished, and wondered
long, before I vaulted over the barrier, unable to resist
the temptation of taking one glance through the window,
just to see if she were more composed than when we

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

IO9

parted ; — and if I found her still in deep distress, per-
haps I might venture to attempt a word of comfort — to
utter one of the many things I should have said before,
instead of aggravating her sufferings by my stupid im-
petuosity. I looked. Her chair was vacant : so was
the room. But at that moment some one opened the
outer door, and a voice — her voice — said —

“ Come out — I want to see the moon, and breathe
the evening air : they will do me good — if anything
will.”

Here, then, were she and Rachel coming to take a
walk in the garden. I wished myself back over the
wall. I stood, however, in the shadow of the tall
holly-bush, which, standing between the window and
the porch, at present screened me from observation, but
did not prevent me from seeing two figures come forth
into the moonlight : Mrs Graham followed by another
— not Rachel, but a young man, slender and rather
tall. Oh, heavens, how my temples throbbed ! In-
tense anxiety darkened my sight ; but 1 thought —
yes, and the voice confirmed it — it was Mr Lawrence.

6t You should not let it worry you so much, Helen,”
said he ; “ I will be more cautious in future ; and in
time ”

I did not hear the rest of the sentence ; for he
walked close beside her and spoke so gently that I
could not catch the words. My heart was splitting
with hatred ; but I listened intently for her reply. I
heard it plainly enough.

“ But I must leave this place, Frederick,” she said
— “ I never can be happy here, — nor anywhere else,
indeed,” she added, with a mirthless laugh, — “ but I
cannot rest here.”

“ But where could you find a better place ? ” replied
he, " so secluded — so near me, if you think anything of
that.”

no

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

“Yes,” interrupted she, “it is all I could wish, if
they could only have left me alone.”

“ But wherever you go, Helen, there will be the
same sources of annoyance. I cannot consent to lose
you : I must go with you, or come to you ; and there
are meddling fools elsewhere, as well as here.”

While thus conversing, they had sauntered slowly
past me, down the walk, and I heard no more of their
discourse ; but I saw him put his arm round her waist,
while she lovingly rested her hand on his shoulder ; —
and then, a tremulous darkness obscured my sight, my
heart sickened and my head burned like fire. I half
rushed, half staggered from the spot where horror had
kept me rooted, and leaped or tumbled over the wall —
I hardly know which — but I know that, afterwards,
like a passionate child, I dashed myself on the ground
and lay there in a paroxysm of anger and despair — how
long, I cannot undertake to say ; but it must have been
a considerable time ; for when, having partially relieved
myself by a torrent of tears, and looked up at the moon,
shining so calmly and carelessly on, as little influenced
by my misery as I was by its peaceful radiance, and
earnestly prayed for death or forgetfulness, I had risen
and journeyed homewards — little regarding the way,
but carried instinctively by my feet to the door, I
found it bolted against me, and every one in bed
except my mother, who hastened to answer my im-
patient knocking, and received me with a shower of
questions and rebukes.

“ Oh, Gilbert, how could you do so ? Where have
you been ? Do come in and take your supper — Fve
got it all ready, though you don’t deserve it, for keep-
ing me in such a fright, after the strange manner you
left the house this evening. Mr Millward was quite

Bless the boy ! how ill he looks ! Oh, gracious !

what is the matter ? ”

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

Ill

“ Nothing, nothing — give me a candle.”

“ But won’t you take some supper ? ”

“ No, I want to go to bed,” said I, taking a candle
and lighting it at the one she held in her hand.

“ Oh, Gilbert, how you tremble ! ” exclaimed my
anxious parent. “ How white you look ! — Do tell me
what it is ? Has anything happened ? ”

“ It’s nothing ! ” cried I, ready to stamp with vexa-
tion because the candle would not light. Then, sup-
pressing my irritation, I added, “ I’ve been walking too
fast, that’s all. Good night,” and marched off to bed,
regardless of the “ Walking too fast ! where have you
been ? ” that was called after me from below.

My mother followed me to the very door of my
room, with her questionings and advice concerning my
health and my conduct ; but I implored her to let me
alone till morning ; and she withdrew, and at length
I had the satisfaction to hear her close her own door.
There was no sleep for me, however, that night, as I
thought ; and instead of attempting to solicit it, I em-
ployed myself in rapidly pacing the chamber — having
first removed my boots lest my mother should hear me.
But the boards creaked, and she was watchful. I had
not walked above a quarter of an hour before she was
at the door again.

“Gilbert, why are you not in bed — you said you
wanted to go ? ”

“ Confound it ! I’m going,” said I.

“ But why are you so long about it ? you must have

something on your mind ”

“For heaven’s sake, let me alone, and get to bed
yourself! ”

“ Can it be that Mrs Graham that distresses you so ? ”

“ No, no, I tell you — it’s nothing ! ”

“ I wish to goodness it mayn’t ! ” murmured she,
with a sigh, as she returned to her own apartment,

1 1 2

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

while I threw myself on the bed, feeling most unduti-
fully disaffected towards her for having deprived me
of what seemed the only shadow of a consolation that
remained, and chained me to that wretched couch of
thorns.

Never did I endure so long, so miserable a night as
that. And yet, it was not wholly sleepless : towards
morning my distracting thoughts began to lose all
pretensions to coherency, and shape themselves into
confused and feverish dreams, and, at length, there
followed an interval of unconscious slumber. But then
the dawn of bitter recollection that succeeded — the
waking to find life a blank, and worse than a blank —
teeming with torment and misery — not a mere barren
wilderness, but full of thorns and briars — to find myself
deceived, duped, hopeless, my affections trampled upon,
my angel not an angel, and my friend a fiend incarnate
— it was worse than if I had not slept at all.

It was a dull, gloomy morning, the weather had
changed like my prospects, and the rain was pattering
against the window. I rose, nevertheless, and went
out ; not to look after the farm, though that would
serve as my excuse, but to cool my brain, and regain, if
possible, a sufficient degree of composure to meet the
family at the morning meal without exciting incon-
venient remarks. If I got a wetting, that, in conjunc-
tion with a pretended over exertion before breakfast,
might excuse my sudden loss of appetite ; and if a cold
ensued, the severer the better, it would help to account
for the sullen moods and moping melancholy likely to
cloud my brow for long enough.

o

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL

”3

C l) a p t c r jctif.v 1 5 ^

“ IV A ^ dear Gilbert • I wish you would try to be a
|yj[ little more amiable,,, said my mother, one
morning after some display of unjustifiable
ill-humour on my part. “ You say there is nothing the
matter with you, and nothing has happened to grieve you,
and yet, I never saw any one so altered as you within
these last few days : you haven’t a good word for any-
body— friends and strangers, equals and inferiors — it’s
all the same. I do wish you’d try to check it.”

66 Check what ? ”

“ Why, your strange temper. You don’t know how
it spoils you. I’m sure a finer disposition than yours
by nature, could not be, if you’d let it have fair play ;
so you’ve no excuse that way.”

While she thus remonstrated, I took up a book, and
laying it open on the table before me, pretended to be
deeply absorbed in its perusal ; for I was equally unable
to justify myself, and unwilling to acknowledge my
errors ; and I wished to have nothing to say on the
matter. But my excellent parent went on lecturing,
and then came to coaxing, and began to stroke my
hair ; and I was getting to feel quite a good boy, but
my mischievous brother, who was idling about the
room, revived my corruption by suddenly calling out —
“ Don’t touch him, mother ! he’ll bite ! He’s a
very tiger in human form. I’ve given him up for my
part — fairly disowned him — cast him ofF, root and
branch. It’s as much as my life is worth to come
within six yards of him. The other day he nearly
fractured my skull for singing a pretty, inoffensive love
song, on purpose to amuse him.”

“ Oh, Gilbert ! how could you ? ” exclaimed my
mother.

I.

H

1 14 the tenant of wildfell hall.

“I told you to hold your noise first, you know,
Fergus,” said I.

“ Yes, but when I assured you it was no trouble, and
went on with the next verse, thinking you might like it
better, you clutched me by the shoulder and dashed me
away, right against the wall there, with such force, that
I thought I had bitten my tongue in two, and expected
to see the place plastered with my brains ; and when I
put my hand to my head and found my skull not
broken, I thought it was a miracle and no mistake.
But poor fellow ! ” added he, with a sentimental sigh
— “ his heart’s broken — that’s the truth of it — and his
head’s”

“Will you be silent now?” cried I, starting up,
and eyeing the fellow so fiercely that my mother, think-
ing I meant to inflict some grievous bodily injury, laid
her hand on my arm, and besought me to let him alone,
and he walked leisurely out, with his hands in his
pockets, singing provokingly — “ Shall I, because a
woman’s fair,” &c.

“ I’m not going to defile my fingers with him,” said
I, in answer to the maternal intercession. “ I wouldn’t
touch him with the tongs.”

I now recollected that I had business with Robert
Wilson, concerning the purchase of a certain field adjoin-
ing my farm — a business I had been putting off from
day to day ; for I had no interest in anything now ;
and besides, I was misanthropically inclined, and, more-
over, had a particular objection to meeting Jane Wilson
or her mother ; for though I had too good reason, now
to credit their reports concerning Mrs Graham, I die
not like them a bit the better for it — or Eliza Millwarc
either — and the thought of meeting them was the mon
repugnant to me, that I could not, now, defy their seem-
ing calumnies and triumph in my own convictions a,-
before. But to-day, I determined to make an effort U

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

TI5

return to my duty. Though I found no pleasure in it,
it would be less irksome than idleness — at all events it
would be more profitable. If life promised no enjoy-
ment within my vocation, at least it offered no allure-
ments out of it; and henceforth, I would put my
shoulder to the wheel and toil away, like any poor
drudge of a cart-horse that was fairly broken in to its
labour, and plod through life, not wholly useless if not
agreeable, and uncomplaining if not contented with my
lot.

Thus resolving, with a kind of sullen resignation, if
such a term may be allowed, I wended my way to
Ryecote Farm scarcely expecting to find its owner
within at this time of day, but hoping to learn in what
part of the premises he was most likely to be found.

Absent he was, but expected home in a few minutes ;
and I was desired to step into the parlour and wait.
Mrs Wilson was busy in the kitchen, but the room was
not empty ; and I scarcely checked an involuntary re-
coil as I entered it ; for there sat Miss Wilson chatter-
ing with Eliza Millward. However, I determined to
be cool and civil. Eliza seemed to have made the
same resolution on her part. We had not met since the
evening of the tea-party ; but there was no visible emo-
tion either of pleasure or pain, no attempt at pathos, no
display of injured pride : she was cool in temper, civil
in demeanour. There was even an ease and cheerful-
ness about her air and manner that I made no pretension
to : but there was a depth of malice in her too expres-
sive eye, that plainly told me I was not forgiven ; for,
though she no longer hoped to win me to herself, she still
hated her rival, and evidently delighted to wreak her
spite on me. On the other hand, Miss Wilson was as
affable and courteous as heart could wish, and though
I was in no very conversible humour myself, the two
ladies between them managed to keep up a pretty

Il6 THE TENANT OF WILD FELL HALL.

continuous fire of small talk. But Eliza took advantage
of the first convenient pause to ask if I had lately seen
Mrs Graham, in a tone of merely casual inquiry, but
with a sidelong glance — intended to be playfully mis-
chievous— really, brimful and running over with malice.

“Not lately,” I replied, in a careless tone, but
sternly repelling her odious glances with my eyes ; for
I was vexed to feel the colour mounting to my fore-
head, despite my strenuous efforts to appear unmoved.

“ What ! are you beginning to tire already ? I
thought so noble a creature would have power to attach
you for a year at least ! ”

" I would rather not speak of her, now.”

“ Ah ! then you are convinced, at last, of your mistake
— you have at length discovered that your divinity is

not quite the immaculate ”

“ I desired you not to speak of her, Miss Eliza.”

“ Oh, I beg your pardon ! I perceive Cupid’s arrows
have been too sharp for you : the wounds being more
than skin deep, are not yet healed, and bleed afresh at
every mention of the loved one’s name.”

“ Say, rather,” interposed Miss Wilson, “that Mr
Markham feels that name is unworthy to be mentioned
in the presence of right-minded females. I wonder,
Eliza, you should think of referring to that unfortunate
person — you might know the mention of her would be
anything but agreeable to any one here present.”

How could this be borne ? I rose and was about to
clap my hat upon my head and burst away, in wrathful
indignation, from the house ; but recollecting — just in
time to save my dignity — the folly of such a proceeding,
and how it would only give my fair tormentors a merry
laugh at my expense, for the sake of one I acknowledged
in my own heart to be unworthy of the slightest sacri-
fice— though the ghost of my former reverence and love
so hung about me still, that I could not bear to hear her

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

117

name aspersed by others — I merely walked to the
window, and having spent a few seconds in vengibly
biting my lips, and sternly repressing the passionate
heavings of my chest, I observed to Miss Wilson that
I could see nothing of her brother, and added that, as
my time was precious, it would perhaps be better to call
again to-morrow, at some time when I should be sure
to find him at home.

" Oh, no ! ” said she, “ if you wait a minute, he will

be sure to come ; for he has business at L ” (that

was our market town) “ and will require a little
refreshment before he goes.”

I submitted accordingly, with the best grace I could ;
and, happily, I had not long to wait. Mr Wilson soon
arrived, and, indisposed for business as I was at that
moment, and little as I cared for the field or its owner,
I forced my attention to the matter in hand, with very
creditable determination, and quickly concluded the
bargain — perhaps more to the thrifty farmer’s satisfaction
than he cared to acknowledge. Then, leaving him to
the discussion of his substantial “ refreshment,” I gladly
quitted the house, and went to look after my reapers.

Leaving them busy at work on the side of the
valley, I ascended the hill, intending to visit a corn-
field in the more elevated regions, and see when it would
be ripe for the sickle. But I did not visit it that day ;
for, as I approached, I beheld at no great distance Mrs
Graham and her son coming down in the opposite
direction. They saw me ; and Arthur already was
running to meet me ; but I immediately turned back
and walked steadily homeward ; for I had fully de-
termined never to encounter his mother again ; and
regardless of the shrill voice in my ear, calling upon me
to “ wait a moment,” I pursued the even tenor of my
way ; and he soon relinquished the pursuit as hopeless,
or was called away by his mother. At all events, when

i iS

THE TENANT OF WILD FELL HALL.

I looked back, five minutes after, not a trace of either
was to be seen.

This incident agitated and disturbed me most unac-
countably— unless you would account for it by saying
that Cupid’s arrows not only had been too sharp for me,
but they were barbed and deeply rooted, and I had not
yet been able to wrench them from my heart. How-
ever that be, I was rendered doubly miserable for
the remainder of the day.

set forth on the expedition, soon after breakfast.
It was a dull, drizzly day ; but that was no matter : it
was all the more suitable to my frame of mind. It was
likely to be a lonely journey ; for it was no market-
day, and the road I traversed was little frequented at
any other time ; but that suited me all the better too.

As I trotted along, however, chewing the cud of
bitter fancies, I heard another horse at no great distance
behind me ; but I never conjectured who the rider
might be, or troubled my head about him, till, on
slackening my pace to ascend a gentle acclivity — or
rather suffering my horse to slacken his pace into a lazy
walk ; for, lost in my own reflections, I was letting it
jog on as leisurely as it thought proper — I lost ground
and my fellow traveller overtook me. He accosted me
by name ; for it was no stranger — it was Mr Lawrence !
Instinctively the fingers of my whip hand tingled, and
grasped their charge with convulsive energy ; but I
restrained the impulse, and answering his salutation with
a nod, attempted to push on ; but he pushed on beside

o

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL. II9

me and began to talk about the weather and the crops.
I gave the briefest possible answers to his queries and
observations, and fell back. He fell back, too, and
asked if my horse was lame. I replied with a look —
at which he placidly smiled.

I was as much astonished as exasperated at this
singular pertinacity and imperturbable assurance on his
part. I had thought the circumstances of our last
meeting would have left such an impression on his
mind as to render him cold and distant ever after :
instead of that, he appeared not only to have forgotten
all former offences, but to be impenetrable to all
present incivilities. Formerly, the slightest hint, or
mere fancied coldness in tone or glance, had sufficed
to repulse him : now, positive rudeness could not drive
him away. Had he heard of my disappointment ;
and was he come to witness the result, and triumph
in my despair ? I grasped my whip with more deter-
mined energy than before — but still forbore to raise it,
and rode on in silence, waiting for some more tangible
cause of offence, before I opened the flood-gates of my
soul, and poured out the dammed-up fury that was
foaming and swelling within.

“ Markham, 99 said he, in his usual quiet tone, “ why
do you quarrel with your friends, because you have been
disappointed in one quarter ? You have found your
hopes defeated ; but how am I to blame for it ? I
warned you beforehand, you know, but you would
not ”

He said no more ; for, impelled by some fiend at my
elbow, I had seized my whip by the small end, and —
swift and sudden as a flash of lightning — brought the
other down upon his head. It was not without a feel-
ing of savage satisfaction that I beheld the instant, deadly
pallor that overspread his face, and the few red drops
that trickled down his forehead, while he reeled a

120

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

moment in the saddle, and then fell backward to the
ground. The pony, surprised to be so strangely re-
lieved of its burden, started and capered, and kicked a
little, and then made use of its freedom to go and crop
the grass of the hedge bank ; while its master lay as still
and silent as a corpse. Had I killed him ? — an icy
hand seemed to grasp my heart and check its pulsation,
as I bent over him, gazing with breathless intensity
upon the ghastly, upturned face. But no ; he moved
his eyelids and uttered a slight groan. I breathed
again — he was only stunned by the fall. It served
him right — it would teach him better manners in future.
Should I help him to his horse! No. For any other
combination of offences I would ; but his were too un-
pardonable. He might mount it himself, if he liked—
in a while : already he was beginning to stir and look
about him — and there it was for him, quietly browsing
on the roadside.

So with a muttered execration I left the fellow to
his fate, and clapping spurs to my own horse, galloped
away, excited by a combination of feelings it would not
be easy to analyse ; and perhaps, if I did so, the result
would not be very creditable to my disposition ; for I
am not sure that a species of exultation in what I had
done was not one principal concomitant.

Shortly, however, the effervescence began to abate,
and not many minutes elapsed before I had turned and
gone back to look after the fate of my victim. It was
no generous impulse — no kind relentings that led me to
this — nor even the fear of what might be the conse-
quences to myself, if I finished my assault upon the
squire by leaving him thus neglected, and exposed to
further injury ; it was, simply, the voice of conscience ;
and I took great credit to myself for attending so
promptly to its dictates — and judging the merit of the
deed by the sacrifice it cost, I was not far wrong.

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL. 12 1

Mr Lawrence and his pony had both altered their
positions in some degree. The pony had wandered
eight or ten yards further away ; and he had managed,
somehow, to remove himself from the middle of the
road : I found him seated in a recumbent position on
the bank, — looking very white and sickly still, and hold-
ing his cambric handkerchief (now more red than white)
to his head. It must have been a powerful blow ; but
half the credit— or the blame of it (which you please)
must be attributed to the whip, which was garnished
with a massive horse’s head of plated metal. The
grass, being sodden with rain, afforded the young
gentleman a rather inhospitable couch ; his clothes were
considerably bemired ; and his hat was rolling in the
mud, on the other side of the road. But his thoughts
seemed chiefly bent upon his pony, on which he was
wistfully gazing— half in helpless anxiety, and half in
hopeless abandonment to his fate.

I dismounted, however, and having fastened my own
animal to the nearest tree, first picked up his hat, in-
tending to clap it on his head ; but either he considered
his head unfit for a hat, or the hat, in its present con-
dition, unfit for his head ; for shrinking away the one,
he took the other from my hand, and scornfully cast it
aside.

“ It’s good enough for you,” I muttered.

My next good office was to catch his pony and bring
it to him, which was soon accomplished ; for the beast
was quiet enough in the main, and only winced and
flirted a trifle till I got hold of the bridle— but then, I
must see him in the saddle.

Here, you fellow — scoundrel — dog — give me your
hand, and I’ll help you to mount.”

No ; he turned from me in disgust. I attempted to
take him by the arm. He shrank away as if there had
been contamination in my touch.

122

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL

“What, you won’t. Well! you may sit there till
doomsday, for what I care. But I suppose you don’t
want to lose all the blood in your body — I’ll just con-
descend to bind that up for you.”

“ Let me alone, if you please.”

“ Humph ! with all my heart. You may go to the

d 1, if you choose — and say I sent you.”

But before I abandoned him to his fate, I flung his
pony’s bridle over a stake in the hedge, and threw him
my handkerchief, as his own was now saturated with
blood. He took it and cast it back to me, in abhorrence
and contempt, with all the strength he could muster.
It wanted but this to fill the measure of his offences.
With execrations not loud but deep, I left him to live
or die as he could, well satisfied that I had done my
duty in attempting to save him — but forgetting how I
had erred in bringing him into such a condition, and
how insultingly my after services had been offered — and
sullenly prepared to meet the consequences if he should
choose to say I had attempted to murder him — which
I thought not unlikely, as it seemed probable he was
actuated by such spiteful motives in so perseveringly
refusing my assistance.

Having remounted my horse, I just looked back to
see how he was getting on, before I rode away. He
had risen from the ground, and grasping his pony’s
mane, was attempting to resume his seat in the saddle ;
but scarcely had he put his foot in the stirrup, when a
sickness or dizziness seemed to overpower him : he leant
forward a moment, with his head drooped on the animal’s
back, and then made one more effort, which proving
ineffectual, he sank back on the bank where I left him,
reposing his head on the oozy turf, and, to all appear-
ance, as calmly reclining as if he had been taking his rest
on his sofa at home.

I ought to have helped him in spite of himself — to

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

123

have bound up the wound he was unable to staunch, and
insisted upon getting him on his horse and seeing him
safe home ; but, besides my bitter indignation against
himself, there was the question what to say to his
servants — and what to my own family. Either I should
have to acknowledge the deed, which would set me
down as a madman, unless I acknowledged the motive
too — and that seemed impossible — or I must get up a
lie, which seemed equally out of the question — especially
as Mr Lawrence would probably reveal the whole truth,
and thereby bring me to tenfold disgrace — unless I were
villain enough, presuming on the absence of witnesses, to
persist in my own version of the case, and make him out
a still greater scoundrel than he was. No ; he had only
received a cut above the temple, and perhaps, a few
bruises from the fall, or the hoofs of his own pony : that
could not kill him if he lay there half the day ; and, it
he could not help himself, surely some one would be
coming by : it would be impossible that a whole day
should pass and no one traverse the road but ourselves.
As for what he might choose to say hereafter, I would
take my chance about it : if he told lies, I would con-
tradict him ; if he told the truth, I would bear it as best
I could. I was not obliged to enter into explanations,
further than I thought proper. Perhaps, he might
choose to be silent on the subject, for fear of raising
inquiries as to the cause of the quarrel, and drawing the
public attention to his connection with Mrs Graham,
which, whether for her sake or his own, he seemed so
very desirous to conceal.

Thus reasoning, I trotted away to the town, where I
duly transacted my business, and performed various little
commissions for my mother and Rose, with very laud-
able exactitude, considering the different circumstances
of the case. In returning home, I was troubled with
sundry misgivings about the unfortunate Lawrence. The

124

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

question, what if I should find him lying still on the
damp earth, fairly dying of cold and exhaustion — or
already stark and chill ? thrust itself most unpleasantly
upon my mind, and the appalling possibility pictured
itself with painful vividness to my imagination as I
approached the spot where I had left him. But no ;
thank Heaven, both man and horse were gone, and
nothing was left to witness against me but two objects
— unpleasant enough in themselves, to be sure, and
presenting a very ugly, not to say murderous, appearance
— in one place, the hat saturated with rain and coated
with mud, indented and broken above the brim by that
villanous whip-handle : in another, the crimson hand-
kerchief, soaking in a deeply tinctured pool of water —
for much rain had fallen in the interim.

Bad news fly fast : it was hardly four o’clock when
I got home, but my mother gravely accosted me
with —

“ Oh, Gilbert ! — such an accident ! Rose has been
shopping in the village, and she’s heard that Mr Law-
rence has been thrown from his horse and brought home
dying!”

This shocked me a trifle, as you may suppose ; but I
was comforted to hear that he had frightfully fractured
his skull and broken a leg ; for, assured of the falsehood
of this, I trusted the rest of the story was equally
exaggerated ; and when I heard my mother and sister
so feelingly deploring his condition, I had considerable
difficulty in preventing myself from telling them the real
extent of the injuries, as far as I knew them.

“You must go and see him to-morrow,” said my
mother.

“Or to-day,” suggested Rose; “there’s plenty of
time ; and you can have the pony, as your horse is tired.
Won’t you, Gilbert — as soon as you’ve had something
to eat ? ”

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL. 1 25

“ No, no — How can we tell that it isn’t all a false

report ? It’s highly im ”

“ Oh, I’m sure it isn’t ; for the village is all alive
about it ; and I saw two people that had seen others
that had seen the man that found him. That sounds
far-fetched ; but it isn’t so, when you think of
it.”

“Well, but Lawrence is a good rider; it is not
likely he would fall from his horse at all ; and if he did,
it is highly improbable he would break his bones in that
way. It must be a gross exaggeration at least.”

“ No, but the horse kicked him — or something.”

“ What, his quiet little pony ? ”

“ How do you know it was that ? ”

“ He seldom rides any other.”

“ At any rate,” said my mother, “ you will call to-
morrow. Whether it be true or false, exaggerated or
otherwise, we shall like to know how he is.”

“ Fergus may go.”

“ Why not you ? ”

“ He has more time : I am busy just now.”

“ Oh ! but Gilbert, how can you be so composed
about it ! You won’t mind business, for an hour or
two, in a case of this sort — when your friend is at the
point of death ! ”

“ He is not, I tell you ! ”

“For anything you know, he may be! you can’t
tell till you have seen him. At all events, he must
have met with some terrible accident, and you ought to
see him : he’ll take it very unkind if you don’t.”

“ Confound it ! I can’t. He and I have not been
on good terms of late.”

“ Oh, my dear boy ! Surely, surely, you are not so
unforgiving as to carry your little differences to such a
length as ”

“ Little differences, indeed ! ” 1 muttered.

126 THE TENANT OF WILD FELL HALL.

“Well, but only remember the occasion! Think

“ Well, well, don’t bother me now — I’ll see about
it,” I replied.

And my seeing about it, was to send Fergus next
morning, with my mother’s compliments, to make the
requisite inquiries ; for, of course, my going was out of
the question — or sending a message either. He brought
back intelligence that the young squire was laid up with
the complicated evils of a broken head and certain
contusions (occasioned by a fall — of which he did not
trouble himself to relate the particulars — and the sub-
sequent misconduct of his horse), and a severe cold,
the consequence of lying on the wet ground in the rain ;
but there were no broken bones, and no immediate pros-
pects of dissolution.

It was evident then, that, for Mrs Graham’s sake, it
was not his intention to criminate me.

THAT day was rainy like its predecessor ; but
towards evening it began to clear up a little, and
the next morning was fair and promising. I
was out on the hill with the reapers. A light wind
swept over the corn ; and all nature laughed in the
sunshine. The lark was rejoicing among the silvery
floating clouds. The late rain had so sweetly freshened
and cleared the air, and washed the sky, and left such
glittering gems on branch and blade, that not even the
farmers could have the heart to blame it. But no ray
of sunshine could reach my heart, no breeze could
freshen it; nothing could fill the void my faith, and
hope, and joy in Helen Graham had left, or drive away

how ”

o-

\

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

I27

the keen regrets, and bitter dregs of lingering love that
still oppressed it.

While I stood, with folded arms, abstractedly gazing
on the undulating swell of the corn not yet disturbed by
the reapers, something gently pulled my skirts, and a
small voice, no longer welcome to my ears, aroused me
with the startling words —

“ Mr Markham, mamma wants you.”

“ Wants me, Arthur ? ”

“Yes. Why do you look so queer?” said he,
half laughing, half frightened at the unexpected aspect
of my face in suddenly turning towards him — “ and
why have you kept so long away ? — Come ! — Won’t
you come ? ”

“ I’m busy just now,” I replied, scarce knowing what
to answer.

He looked up in childish bewilderment ; but before
I could speak again, the lady herself was at my
side.

“ Gilbert, I must speak with you ! ” said she, in a
tone of suppressed vehemence.

I looked at her pale cheek and glittering eye, but
answered nothing.

“Only for a moment,” pleaded she. “Just step
aside into this other field,” she glanced at the reapers,
some of whom were directing looks of impertinent
curiosity towards her — “ I won’t keep you a minute.”

I accompanied her through the gap.

Arthur, darling, run and gather those blue-bells,”
said she, pointing to some that were gleaming, at some
distance, under the hedge along which we walked. The
child hesitated, as if unwilling to quit my side. “ Go,
love ! ” repeated she, more urgently, and in a tone,
which, though not unkind, demanded prompt obedience,
and obtained it.

“ Well, Mrs Graham ?” said I, calmly and coldly;

128

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

for, though I saw she was miserable, and pitied her, I
felt glad to have it in my power to torment her.

She fixed her eyes upon me with a look that pierced
me to the heart ; and yet, it made me smile.

“ I don’t ask the reason of this change, Gilbert,”
said she, with bitter calmness. “ I know it too well ;
but though I could see myself suspected and condemned
by every one else, and bear it with calmness, I cannot
endure it from you. — Why did you not come to hear
my explanation on the day I appointed to give
it?”

“ Because I happened, in the interim, to learn all you
would have told me — and a trifle more, I imagine.”

“ Impossible, for I would have told you all ! ” cried
she passionately — “ but I won’t now, for I see you are
not worthy of it ! ”

And her pale lips quivered with agitation.

“ Why not, may I ask ? ”

She repelled my mocking smile with a glance of
scornful indignation.

“ Because you never understood me, or you would
not soon have listened to my traducers — my confidence
would be misplaced in you — you are not the man I
thought you — Go ! I won’t care what you think of
me.

She turned away, and I went ; for I thought that
would torment her as much as anything ; and I believe
I was right ; for, looking back a minute after, I saw
her turn half round, as if hoping or expecting to find me
still beside her ; and then she stood still, and cast one
look behind. It was a look less expressive of anger
than of bitter anguish and despair : but I immediately
assumed an aspect of indifference, and affected to be
gazing carelessly round me, and I suppose she went on ;
for after lingering awhile to see if she would come back
or call, I ventured one more glance, and saw her a good

THE TENANT OB' WILDFELL HALL.

129

way off, moving rapidly up the field with little Arthur
running by her side and apparently talking as he went ;
but she kept her face averted from him, as if to hide
some uncontrollable emotion. And 1 returned to mv
business. J

But I soon began to regret my precipitancy in leaving
her so soon. It_was evident she loved me — pi-nh-.M.,
she was tired of Mr Lawrence, andwi^id to exchange
him for me ; and if I had loved and reverenced her less
to begin with, the preference might have gratified and
amused me ; but now, the contrast between her outward
seeming and her inward mind, as I supposed,— between
my former and my present opinion of her, was so har-
rowing—so distressing to my feelings, that it swallowed
up every lighter consideration.

But still, I was curious to know what sort of an
explanation she would have given me,— or would give
now, if I pressed her for it— how much she would ~s
confess, and how she would endeavour to excuse herself. /
! 1°nSed t0 know what to despise, and what to admire ~
m her; how much to pity, and how much to hate;—
and, what was more, I would know. I would see her
once more, and fairly satisfy myself in what light to
legard her, before we parted. Lost to me she was. for
ever, of course ; but still, I could not bear to think that
we had parted, for the last time, vitli so much unkind-
n^3d,niisequ3P both aides. That " liitTBSFoThers
had sunk into my heart ; I could not forget it. But
what a fool I was ! Had she not deceived me, injured
me — blighted my happiness for life ? “ Well, I’ll see

her, however,” was my concluding resolve, — “ but not
to-day: to-day and to-night, she may think upon her
sins, and be as miserable as she will : to-morrow, I will
see her once again, and know something more about
her. The interview may be serviceable to her, or it
may not. At any rate, it will give a breath of excite-

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

I3C

ment to the life she has doomed to stagnation, and may
calm with certainty some agitating thoughts.”

I did go on the morrow ; but not till towards even-
ing, after the business of the day was concluded, that is,
between six and seven ; and the westering sun was
gleaming redly on the old hall, and flaming in the
latticed windows, as I reached it, imparting to the place
a cheerfulness not its own. I need not dilate upon the
feelings with which I approached the shrine of my former
divinity — that spot teeming with a thousand delightful
recollections and glorious dreams — all darkened now,
by one disastrous truth.

Rachel admitted me into the parlour, and went to
call her mistress, for she was not there ; but there was
her desk left open on the little round table beside
the high-backed chair, with a book laid upon it. Her
limited but choice collection of books was almost as
familiar to me as my own ; but this volume I had not
seen before. I took it up. It was Sir Humphrey
Davy’s “ Last Days of a Philosopher,” and on the
first leaf was written, — “Frederick Lawrence.” I
closed the book, but kept it in my hand, and stood
facing the door, with my back to the fireplace, calmly
waiting her arrival ; for I did not doubt she would
come.° And soon I heard her step in the hall. My
heart was beginning to throb, but I checked it with an
internal rebuke, and maintained my composure — out-
wardly, at least. She entered, calm, pale, collected.

“To what am I indebted for this favour, Mr
Markham?” said she, with such severe but quiet
dignity as almost disconcerted me ; but I answered with
a smile, and impudently enough . ^

“Well, I am come to hear your explanation.”

“ I told you I would not give it,” said she. “ I
said you were unworthy of my confidence.

“ Oh, very well,” replied I, moving to the door.

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

131

“ Stay a moment,” said she. “ This is the last time
1 shall see you : don’t go just yet.”

I lemained awaiting her further commands.

“ Tell me,” resumed she, “ on what grounds you
believe these things against me ; who told you ; and
what did they say ? ”

I paused a moment. She met my eye as unflinch-
ingly as if her bosom had been steeled with conscious
innocence. She was resolved to know the worst, and
determined to dare it too. “ I can crush that bold
spmt, thought I. But while I secretly exulted in
my power, I felt disposed to dally with my victim like
a cat. Showing her the book that I still held in my
hand, and pointing to the name on the fly-leaf, but
fixing my eye upon her face, I asked —

“ Do you know that gentleman ? ”

“Of course I do,” replied she; and a sudden flush
suffused her features— whether of shame or anger I
could not tell : it rather resembled the latter. “ What
next, sir ? ”

“ How long is it since you saw him ? ”

“ Who gave you the right to catechise me, on this or
any other subject ? 99

“ Oh, no one ! — it’s quite at your option whether to
answer or not. And now, let me ask — have you
heard what has lately befallen this friend of yours >
— because, if you have not ”

“ I will not be insulted, Mr Markham ! ” cried she,
almost infuriated at my manner. “ So you had better
leave the house at once, if you came only for that.”

“ I did not come to insult you : I came to hear your
explanation.” J

“ And I tell you I won’t give it ! ” retorted she,
pacing the room in a state of strong excitement, with
her hands clasped tightly together, breathing short, and
flashing fires of indignation from her eyes. « I will

i32

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

not condescend to explain myself to one that can make
a jest of such horrible suspicions, and be so easily led to
entertain them.”

“ I do not make a jest of them, Mrs Graham,”
returned I, dropping at once my tone of taunting
sarcasm. “ I heartily wish I could find them a jesting
matter ! And as to being easily led to suspect, God
only knows what a blind incredulous fool I have
hitherto been, perseveringly shutting my eyes and stop-
ping my ears against everything that threatened to shake
my confidence in you, till proof itself confounded my
infatuation ! ”

“ What proof, sir ? ”

“ Well, I’ll tell you. You remember that evening
when I was here last ? ”

“I do.”

“ Even then, you dropped some hints that might have
opened the eyes of a wiser man ; but they had no such
effect upon me : I went on trusting and believing,
hoping against hope, and adoring where [ could not
comprehend. It so happened, however, that after I
left you, I turned back — drawn by pure depth of sym-
pathy, and ardour of affection — not daring to intrude
my presence openly upon you, but unable to resist the
temptation of catching one glimpse through the window,
just to see how you were ; for I had left you apparently
in great affliction, and I partly blamed my own want of
forbearance and discretion as the cause of it. If I did
wrong, love alone was my incentive, and the punish-
ment was severe enough ; for it was just as I had
reached that tree, that you came out into the garden
with your friend. Not choosing to show myself, under
the circumstances, I stood still, in the shadow, till you
had both passed by.”

“ And how much of our conversation did you hear ?

“ I heard quite enough, Helen. And it was well for

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

133

| me that I did hear it ; for nothing less could have
cured my infatuation. I always said and thought, that
I would never believe a word against you, unless I
1 heard it from your own lips. All the hints and
affirmations of others I treated as malignant, baseless
! slanders; your own self-accusations I believed to be
over-strained ; and all that seemed unaccountable in
your position, I trusted that you could account for if
you chose.”

Mrs Graham had discontinued her walk. She leant
against one end of the chimney-piece, opposite that near
which I was standing, with her chin resting on her
closed hand, her eyes — no longer burning with anger,
but gleaming with restless excitement — sometimes
glancing at me while I spoke, then coursing the
opposite wall, or fixed upon the carpet.

“ You should have come to me, after all,” said she,
“ and heard what I had to say in my own justification.
It was ungenerous and wrong to withdraw yourself so
secretly and suddenly, immediately after such ardent
protestations of attachment, without ever assigning a
reason for the change. You should have told me all —
no matter how bitterly. It would have been better
than this silence.”

To what end should I have done so ? You could
not have enlightened me further, on the subject which
alone concerned me ; nor could you have made me dis-
credit the evidence of my senses. I desired our in-
timacy to be discontinued at once, as you yourself had
acknowledged would probably be the case if 1 knew
all ; but I did not wish to upbraid you, — though (as
you also acknowledged) you had deeply wronged me.
Yes ; you have done me an injury you can never repair
or any other either — you have blighted the freshness
and promise of youth, and made my life a wilderness !

I might live a hundred years, but I could never recover

134 THE tenant of wildfell hall.

from the effects of this withering blow — and never

forget it! Hereafter You smile, Mrs Graham,”

said I, suddenly stopping short, checked in my pas-
sionate declamation by unutterable feelings to behold
her actually smiling at the picture of the ruin she had
wrought.

“ Did I ? ” replied she, looking seriously up ; “ I
was not aware of it. If I did, it was not for pleasure
at the thoughts of the harm I had done you. Heaven
knows I have had torment enough at the bare possibility
of that ; — it was for joy to find that you had some
depth of soul and feeling after all, and to hope that I
had not been utterly mistaken in your worth. But
smiles and tears are so alike with me ; they are neither
of them confined to any particular feelings : I often cry
when I am happy, and smile when 1 am sad.”

She looked at me again, and seemed to expect a
reply ; but I continued silent.

“ Would you be very glad,” resumed she, “to find
that you were mistaken in your conclusions ? ”

“ How can you ask it, Helen ? ”

“ I don’t say I can clear myself altogether,” said
she, speaking low and fast, while her heart beat visibly
and her bosom heaved with excitement, — “ but would
you be glad to discover I was better than you think
me ;

“ Anything, that could, in the least degree, tend to
restore my former opinion of you, to excuse the regard
I still feel for you, and alleviate the pangs of unutter-
able regret that accompany it, would be only too gladly
— too eagerly received ! ”

Her cheeks burned and her whole frame trembled,
now, with excess of agitation. She did not speak, but
flew to her desk, and snatching thence what seemed a
thick album or manuscript volume, hastily tore away a
few leaves from the end, and thrust the rest into my

THE TENANT OF WILD FELL HALL. 1 35

hand, saying, “ You needn’t read it all ; but take it
home with you,” and hurried from the room. But
when I had left the house, and was proceeding down
the walk, she opened the window and called me back.
It was only to say —

“ Bring it back when you have read it ; and don’t
breathe a word of what it tells you to any living being.
I trust to your honour.”

Before I could answer, she had closed the casement
and turned away. I saw her cast herself back in the
old oak chair, and cover her face with her hands. Her
feelings had been wrought to a pitch that rendered it
necessary to seek relief in tears.

Panting with eagerness, and struggling to suppress my
hopes, I hurried home, and rushed upstairs to my room,
having first provided myself with a candle, though it
was scarcely twilight yet — then, shut and bolted the
door, determined to tolerate no interruption ; and sitting
down before the table, opened out my prize and de-
livered myself up to its perusal — first, hastily turning
over the leaves, and snatching a sentence here and
there, and then, setting myself steadily to read it
through.

I have it now before me ; and though you could not,
of course, peruse it with half the interest that I did, I
know you would not be satisfied with an abbreviation of
its contents, and you shall have the whole, save, per-
haps, a few passages here and there of merely temporal
interest to the writer, or such as would serve to encumber
the story rather than elucidate it. It begins somewhat
abruptly, thus — but we will reserve its commencement
< f°r another chapter, and call it —

4

f

0 — - —

136 the tenant of wildfell hall.

Chapter pbj, (><*)

June 1st , 1821.

WE have just returned to Staningley — that is, we
returned some days ago, and I am not yet
settled, and feel as if I never should be.
We left town sooner than was intended, in consequence
of my uncle’s indisposition — I wonder what would have
been the result if we had stayed the full time. I am
quite ashamed of my new-sprung distaste for country
life. All my former occupations seem so tedious and
dull, my former amusements so insipid and unprofitable.
I cannot enjoy my music, because there is no one to
hear it. I cannot enjoy my walks, because there is no
one to meet. I cannot enjoy my books, because they
have not power to arrest my attention — my head is so
haunted with the recollections of the last few weeks,
^ that I cannot attend to them. My drawing suits me
best, for I can draw and think at the same time ; and
if my productions cannot now be seen by any one but
myself and those who do not care about them, they,
possibly, may be, hereafter. But then, there is one face
I am always trying to paint or to sketch, and always
without success ; ami that vexes me. As for the
owner of that face, I cannot get him out of my mind
— and, indeed, I never TryT” TwSntteTwhether he ever
thinks of me ; and I wonder wEettier-F shdhrrrer see
fum again. And then might follow a train of other
wonderments — questions for time and fate to answer —
concluding with : — supposing all the rest be answered
in the affirmative, I wonder whether I shall ever repent
it — as my aunt would tell me I should, if she knew what
I was thinking about. How distinctly I remember our
conversation that evening before our departure for town,
when we were sitting together over the fire, my uncle
having gone to bed with a slight attack of the gout.

L

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL nALL.

T37

6 do

don’t think it at all likely that

“ Helen,” said she, after a thoughtful silence,
you ever think about marriage ? 99

“ Yes, aunt, often.”

" And do you ever contemplate the possibility of
being married yourself, or engaged, before the season is
over ? 99

“ Sometimes ; but
I ever shall.”

“ Why so ? ”

“ Because, I imagine there must be only a very, verjf^
few men in the world, that I should like to marry";
and of those few, it is ten to one I may never be
acquainted with one : or if I should, it is twenty to
one, he may not happen to be single, or to take a fancy
to me.” J

“ That is no argument at all. It may be very true

and I hope is true, that there are very few men whom
you would choose to marry, of yourself. It is not,
indeed, to be supposed, that you would wish to marry
any one, till you were asked : a girl’s affections should

never be won unsought. But when they are sought

when the citadel of the heart is fairly besieged — it is
apt to surrender sooner than the owner is aware of, and
often against her better judgment, and in opposition to
all her preconceived ideas of what she could have loved,
unless she be extremely careful and discreet. Now, I
want to warn you, Helen, of these things, and to exhort
you to be watchful and circumspect from the very com-
mencement of your career, and not to suffer your heart
to be stolen from you by the first foolish or unprincipled
person that covets the possession of it, — You know, my

5 there is P]enty of time
before you, and” neither your uncle nor I are in any
hurry to get you off our hands, and I may venture to
say, there will be no lack of suitors ; for you can boast
a good family, a pretty considerable fortune and ex-

138 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

pectations, and, I may as well tell you likewise — for, if
I don’t, others will — that you have a fair share of
beauty, besides — and I hope you may never have cause
to regret it ! ”

“ I hope not, aunt ; but why should you fear it ? ”

“ Because, my dear, beauty is that quality which,
next to money, is generally the most attractive to the
worst kinds of men ; and, therefore, it is likely to entail
a great deal of trouble on the possessor.”

* “ Have you been troubled in that way, aunt ? 99

“No, Helen,” said she, with reproachful gravity,
“ but I know many that have ; and some, through care-
lessness, have been the wretched victims of deceit ; and
some, through weakness, have fallen into snares and
temptations, terrible to relate.”

“Well, I shall be neither careless nor weak.”

“ Remember Peter, Helen ! Don’t boast, but watch.
Keep a guard over your eyes and ears as the inlets of
your heart, and over your lips as the outlet, lest they
betray you in a moment of unwariness. Receive, coldly
and dispassionately, every attention, till you have ascer-
tained and duly considered the worth of the aspirant ;
and let your affections be consequent upon approbation
alone. First study; then approve; then love. Let
your eyes be blind to all external attractions, your ears
deaf to all the fascinations of flattery and light discourse.
— These are nothing — and worse than nothing — snares
and wiles of the tempter, to lure the thoughtless to their
own destruction. Principle is the first thing, after all; and
next to that, good sense, respectability, and moderate
wealth. If you should marry the handsomest, and
most accomplished and superficially agreeable man in
the world, you little know the misery that would over-
whelm you, if, after all, you should find him to be a
worthless reprobate, or even an impracticable fool.”

“ But what are all the poor fools and reprobates to do,

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

*3 9

aunt ? If everybody followed your advice, the world
would soon come to an end.”

Never fear, my dear ! the male fools and reprobates
will never want for partners, while there are so many
of the other sex to match them; but do you follow

my advice. And this is no subject for jestine, Helen

lam sorry to see you treat the matter in that light way.
Believe me, matrimony is a serious thing.” And she
spoke it so seriously, that one might have fancied she
had known it to her cost ; but I asked no more imper-

tinent questions, and merely answered

. “ I know it is ; and I know there is truth and sense
in what you say ; but you need not fear me, for I not
only should think it wrong to marry a man that was
deficient in sense or in principle, but I should never be
tempted to do it ; for I could not like him, if he were
ever so handsome, and ever so charming, in other re-
spects ; I should hate him— despise him — pity him

anything but love him. My affections not only ought
to be founded on approbation, but they will and must
be so: for, without approving, I cannot love. It is
needless to say, I ought to be able to resnect and honour
the man I marry, as well as love him, for I cannot love
him without. So set you mind at rest.”

“ I hope it may be so,” answered she.

“ I know it is so,” persisted I.

“You have not been tried yet, Helen— we can but
hope, said she, in her cold, cautious way.

I was vexed at her incredulity; but I am not sure
her doubts were entirely without sagacity ; I fear I have
found it much easier to remember her advice than to
profit by it ; — indeed I have sometimes been led to
question the soundness of her doctrines on those subjects.

Her counsels may be good as far as they go in the

main points, at least; but there are some things she has
overlooked in her calculations. I wonder if she was
ever in love.

140

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

I commenced my career — or my first campaign, as
my uncle calls it — kindling with bright hopes and fancies
— chiefly raised by this conversation — and full of con-
fidence in my own discretion. At first, I was delighted
with the novelty and excitement of our London life ;
but soon I began to weary of its mingled turbulence
and constraint, and sigh for the freshness and freedom
of home. My new acquaintances, both male and female,
disappointed my expectations, and vexed and depressed
me by turns ; for 1 soon grew tired of studying their
peculiarities, and laughing at their foibles — particularly
as I was obliged to keep my criticisms to myself, for
my aunt would not hear them — and they — the ladies
especially — appeared so provokingly mindless, and heart-
less, and artificial. The gentlemen seemed better, but,
perhaps, it was because I knew them less — perhaps,
because they flattered me ; but I did not fall in love
with any of them ; and, if their attentions pleased me
one moment, they provoked me the next, because they
put me out of humour with myself, by revealing my
vanity, and making me fear I was becoming like some
of the ladies I so heartily despised.

There was one elderly gentleman that annoyed me
very much ; a rich old friend of my uncle’s, who, I
believe, thought I could not do better than marry him ;
but, besides being old, he was ugly and disagreeable, —
and wicked, I am sure, though my aunt scolded me for
saying so ; but she allowed he was no saint. And
there was another, less hateful, but still more tiresome,
because she favoured him, and was always thrusting
him upon me, and sounding his praises in my ears, Mr
Boarham, by name, Bore’em, as I prefer spelling it, for
a terrible bore he was : I shudder still, at the remem-
brance of his voice, drone, drone, drone, in my ear,
while he sat beside me, prosing away by the half-hour
together, and beguiling himself with the notion that he

THE TENANT OF WILD FELL HALL. 141

was improving my mind by useful information, or im-
pressing his dogmas upon me, and reforming my errors
of judgment, or, perhaps, that he was talking down to
my level, and amusing me with entertaining discourse.
Yet he was a decent man enough, in the main, I dare
say ; and if he had kept his distance, I never would
have hated him. As it was, it was almost impossible
to help it ; for he not only bothered me with the
infliction of his own presence, but he kept me from the
enjoyment of more agreeable society.

One night, however, at a ball, he had been more than
usually tormenting, and my patience was quite ex-
hausted. It appeared as if the whole evening was
fated to be insupportable : I had just had one dance
with an empty-headed coxcomb, and then Mr Boarham
had come upon me and seemed determined to cling to
me for the rest of the night. He never danced him-
self, and there he sat, poking his head in my face, and
impressing all beholders with the idea that he was a
confirmed, acknowledged lover ; my aunt looking com-
placently on, all the time, and wishing him God-speed.
In vain I attempted to drive him away by giving a
loose to my exasperated feelings, even to positive
rudeness : nothing could convince him that his presence
was disagreeable. Sullen silence was taken for rapt
attention, and gave him greater room to talk ; sharp
answers were received as smart sallies of girlish viva-
city, that only required an indulgent rebuke ; and flat
contradictions were but as oil to the flames, calling forth
new strains of argument to support his dogmas, and
bringing down upon me endless floods of reasoning to
overwhelm me with conviction.

But there was one present who seemed to have a
better appreciation of my frame of mind. A gentleman
stood by, who had been watching our conference for
some time, evidently much amused at my companion’s

142

THE TENANT OF WILD FELL HALL.

remorseless pertinacity and my manifest annoyance, and
laughing to himself at the asperity and uncompromising
spirit of my replies. At length, however, he withdrew,
and went to the lady of the house, apparently for the
purpose of asking an introduction to me, for, shortly
after, they both came up, and she introduced him as Mr
Huntingdon, the son of a late friend of my uncle’s. He
asked me to dance. I gladly consented, of course ; and
he was my companion during the remainder of my stay,
which was not long, for my aunt, as usual, insisted upon
an early departure.

I was sorry to go, for I had found my new acquaint-
ance a very lively and entertaining companion. There
was a certain graceful ease and freedom about all he
said and did, that gave a sense of repose and expansion
to the mind, after so much constraint and formality as I
had been doomed to suffer. There might be, it is true,
a little too much careless boldness in his manner and
address, but I was in so good a humour, and so grateful
for my late deliverance from Mr Boarham, that it did
not anger me.

“ Well, Helen, how do you like Mr Boarham now ? ”
said my aunt, as we took our seats in the carriage and
drove away.

“ Worse than ever,” I replied.

She look displeased, but said no more on that
subject.

“ Who was the gentleman you danced with last,”
resumed she after a pause — “that was so officious in
helping you on with your shawl ? ”

“ He was not officious at all, aunt : he never attempted
to help me, till he saw Mr Boarham coming to do so ;
and then he stepped laughingly forward and said,
‘ Come, I’ll preserve you from that infliction.’ ”

“Who was it, I ask?” said she, with frigid
gravity.

THE TENANT OF WILD FELL HALL.

M3

“It was Mr Huntingdon, the son of uncle’s old
friend.”

“ I have heard your uncle speak of young Mr
Huntingdon. I’ve heard him say, ‘ He’s a fine lad,
that young Huntingdon, but a bit wildish, I fancy.’ So
I’d have you beware.”

“ What does ‘ a bit wildish ’ mean ? ” I inquired.

“ It means destitute of principle, and prone to every
vice that is common to youth.”

“ But I’ve heard uncle say he was a sad wild fellow
himself, when he was young.”

She sternly shook her head.

“ He was jesting then, I suppose,” said I, “ and
here he was speaking at random — at least, I cannot
believe there is any harm in those laughing blue
eyes.”

“ False reasoning, Helen ! ” said she, with a sigh.

“ Well, we ought to be charitable, you know, aunt —
besides, I don’t think it is false : I am an excellent
physiognomist, and I always judge of people^scHaracters
by their looks — not by whether they are handsome or
ugly, but by the general cast of the countenance. For
instance, I should know by your countenance that you
were not of a cheerful, sanguine disposition ; and I
should know by Mr Wil mot’s that he was a worthless
old reprobate, and by Mr Boarham’s that he was not an
agreeable companion, and by Mr Huntingdon’s that he
was neither a fool nor a knave, though, possibly, neither
a sage nor a saint— but that is no matter to me, as I am
not likely to meet him again — unless as an occasional
partner in the ball-room.”

It was not so, however, for I met him again next
morning. He came to call upon my uncle, apologising
for not having done so before, by saying he was only
lately returned from the Continent, and had not heard,
till the previous night, of my uncle’s arrival in town ;

144

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

and after that, I often met him ; sometimes in public,
sometimes at home ; for he was very assiduous in paying
his respects to his old friend, who did not, however,
consider himself greatly obliged by the attention.

“ I wonder what the deuce the lad means by coming
so often ? ” he would say,— “ can you tell, Helen ?—
Hey ? He wants none o’ my company, nor I his—
that’s certain.”

“ I wish you’d tell him so, then,” said my aunt.

« Why, what for ? If I don’t want him, somebody
does mayhap (winking at me). Besides, he’s a pretty
tidy fortune, Peggy, you know — not such a catch as
Wilmot, but then Helen won’t hear of that match;
for, somehow, these old chaps don’t go down with the
girls — with all their money— and their experience to
boot. I’ll bet anything she’d rather have this young
fellow without a penny, than Wilmot with his house
full of gold — Wouldn’t you, Nell ? ”

« Yes, uncle ; but that’s not saying much for Mr
Huntingdon, for I’d rather be an old maid and a pauper,
than Mrs Wilmot.”

“ And Mrs Huntingdon ? What would you rather
be than Mrs Huntingdon ? eh ? ”

« I’ll tell you when I’ve considered the matter.

<« Ah ! it needs consideration then. But come, now

would you rather be an old maid — let alone the

pauper ? ”

“ I can’t tell till I’m asked.”

And I left the room immediately, to escape further
examination. But five minutes after, in looking from
my window, I beheld Mr Boarham, coming up to the
door. I waited nearly half-an-hour in uncomfortable
suspense, expecting every minute to be called, and vainly
longing to hear him go. Then, footsteps were heard
on the stairs, and my aunt entered the room with a
solemn countenance, and closed the door behind her.

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

MS

“ Here is Mr Boarham, Helen,” said she. “He
wishes to see you.”

aunt ! Can’t you tell him I’m indisposed ?
I’m sure I am — to see him.”

“ Nonsense, my dear ! this is no trifling matter. He
is come on a very important errand— to ask your hand
in marriage of your uncle and me.”

I hope my uncle and you told him it was not in
your power to give it. What right had he to ask any
one before me?” 3

“ Helen ! ”

“ What did my uncle say ? ”

“ He said he would not interfere in the matter ;
if you liked to accept Mr Boarham’s obliging offer,
you”

“ Did he say obliging offer ? ”

No ; he said if you liked to take him you might ;
and if not, you might please yourself.”

“ He said right ; and what did you say ? ”

“It .is no matter what I said. What will you say?
—that is the question. He is now waiting to ask you
himself; but consider well before you go ; and if you
intend to refuse him, give me your reasons.”

“ I shall refuse him, of course, but you must tell me
how, for I want to.be civil and yet decided— and when
I ve got rid of him I’ll give you my reasons after-
wards.”

But stay, Helen ; sit down a little, and compose
yourself. Mr Boarham is in no particular hurry, for he
has little doubt of your acceptance ; and I want to speak
with you. Tell me, my dear, what are your objections
to him ? Do you deny that he is an upright, honourable
man ? ”

“ No.”

“ Do you deny that he is a sensible, sober, respect-
able ? ” r

I.

K

146 THE TENANT OF WILD FELL HALL.

!

“ No ; he may be all this, but ”

“ But, Helen ! How many such men do you
expect to meet with in the world ! Upright, honour-
able, sensible, sober, respectable ! — Is this such an every-
day character, that you should reject the possessor of'
such noble qualities, without a moment’s hesitation ? —
Yes, noble, 1 may call them ; for, think of the full
meaning of each, and how many inestimable virtues they
o include (and I might add many more to the list), and

/ consider that all this is laid at your feet; it is in your

power to secure this inestimable blessing for life — a
worthy and excellent husband, who loves you tenderly,
but not too fondly so as to blind him to your faults,
and will be your guide throughout life’s pilgrim-
age, and your partner in eternal bliss ! Think
how”

“ But I hate him, aunt.” said I, interrupting this
unusual How of eloquence.

“ Hate him, Helen ! Is this a Christian spirit ? —
you hate him ? — and he so good a man ! ”

“ I don’t hate him as a man, but as a husband. As
a man, I love him so much, that I wish him a better
wife than I — one as good as himself, or better — if you
think that possible — provided, she could like him ; but

I never could, and therefore ”

“ But why not ? What objection do you find ? ”

“ Firstly, he is, at least, forty years old — consider-
ably more I should think, and I am but eighteen :
secondly, he is narrow-minded and bigoted in the
extreme ; thirdly, his tastes and feelings are wholly
dissimilar to mine ; fourthly, his looks, voice, and
manner are particularly displeasing to me ; and finally,

I have an aversion to his whole person that I never can
surmount.”

“ Then you ought to surmount it ! And please to
compare him for a moment with Mr Huntingdon, and,

147

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

good looks apart (which contribute nothing to the merit
of the man, or to the happiness of married life, and
which you have so often professed to hold in light
5 esteem), tell me which is the better man.”

“ I have no doubt Mr Huntingdon is a much better
man than you think him — but we are not talking about
him, now, but about Mr Boarham ; and as I would
* rather grow, Jive and die in single blessedness than be
, his wife, it is but right that I should tell him so at
once, and put him out of suspense — so let me go.”

“ But don’t give him a flat denial ; he has no idea of
such a thing, and it would offend him greatly : say you

have no thoughts of matrimony, at present ”

“ But I have thoughts of it.”

“ Or that you desire a further acquaintance.”

“ But I don’t desire a further acquaintance — quite
the contrary.”

And without waiting for further admonitions, I left
the room, and went to seek Mr Boarham. He was
walking up and down the drawing-room, humming
snatches of tunes, and nibbling the end of his c^- #

“ My dear young lady,” said he, bowfng "afea
smirking with great complacency, “ I have your kind

guardian’s permission ”

“ I know, sir,” said I, wishing to shorten the scene
as much as possible, “and I am greatly obliged for
your preference, but must beg to decline the honour
you wish to confer ; for, I think, we were not made
for each other — as you yourself would shortly discover
if the experiment were tried.”

My aunt was right : it was quite evident he had
had little doubt of my acceptance, and no idea of a
positive denial. Hj^aa^ai^zed— astounded at such
an answer, but too incredulous to be much offended;
and after a litle humming and hawing, he returned to
the attack.

148

THE TENANT OF W1LDFELL HALL.

“ I know, my dear, that there exists a considerable
disparity between us in years, in temperament, and
perhaps some other things ; but let me assure you, I
shall not be severe to mark the faults and foibles of a
young and ardent nature such as yours, and while I
acknowledge them to myself, and even rebuke them
with all a father’s care, believe me, no youthful lover
could be more tenderly indulgent towards the object of
his affections, than I to you ; and, on the other hand,
let me hope that my more experienced years and graver
habits of reflection will be no disparagement in your
eyes, as I shall endeavour to make them all conducive
to your happiness. Come now ! What do you say ?
— Let us have no young lady’s affectations and capiices,
but speak out at once ! ”

“ I will, but only to repeat what I said before, that
I am certain we were not made for each other.

“ You really think so ? ”

“Ido.” ^ r , • i

“ But, you don’t know me— you wish for a further^

mce — a longer time to ”

iw, I don’t. I know you as well as I ever shall,
and better than you know me, or you would never
dream of uniting yourself to one so ^incongruous so,
utterly unsuitable to you in every way.” ^

“But, my dear young lady, I don’t look for

perfection, I can excuse ”

“Thank you, Mr Boarham, but I won t trespass
upon your goodness. You may save your indulgence

UJJU11 yyjui gwwivuu. J J l* U

and consideration for some more worthy object, that;
won’t tax them so heavily.” 1

“ But let me beg you to consult your aunt ; that

excellent lady, I am sure, will ” .

“ I have consulted her ; and I know her wishei
coincide with yours ; but in such important matters, I
take the liberty of judging for myself ; and no persua

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

149

(

sion can alter my inclinations, or induce me to believe
that such a step would bo conducive to my happiness,
or yours— and I wonder fiiat a man of your experience
and discretion should think of choosing such a wife.”

“ Ah, well ! said he, “ I have sometimes wondered
at that myself. I have sometimes said to myself,
‘ Now> Boarham, what is this you’re after ? Take care,
man look before you leap ! This is a sweet, bewitch-
ing creatuie, but remember, the brightest attractions to
the lover, too often prove the husband’s greatest tor-
ments ! ’ I assure you my choice has not been made
; ^o^much reasoning and reflection. The seeming
mprudence of the match has cost me many an anxious
thought by day, and many a sleepless hour by night ;
but at length, I satisfied myself, that it was not, in
3 very deed, imprudent. I saw my sweet girl was not
without her faults, but of these, her youth, I trusted,
was not one, but rather an earnest of virtues yet unblown
—a strong ground of presumption that her little defects
t of temper, and errors of judgment, opinion, or manner
were not irremediable, but might easily be removed or
< mitISated by the patient efforts of a watchful and judi-
cious adviser, and where I failed to enlighten and con-
0 trol, I thought I might safely undertake to pardon, for
the sake of her many excellences. Therefore, my
), dearest girl, since I am satisfied, why should you object
— on my account, at least ? ” J

“ But t0 te]1 y°u the truth, Mr Boarham, it is on my

own account I principally object ; so let us drop

the subject, I would have said, “for it is worse than
useless to pursue it any further,” but he pertinaciously
interrupted me with —

“ But ,'vhy so • 1 would love you, cherish you, pro-
ject you,” &c., &c. y 1

I shall not trouble myself to put down all that passed
between us. Suffice it to say, that I found him very

15°

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

troublesome, and very hard to convince that I realty
meant what I said, and really was so obstinate and
blind to my own interests, tlv»t there was no shadow of
a chance that either he or my aunt would ever be able
to overcome my objections. Indeed, I am not sure
that I succeeded after all, though, wearied with his so
pertinaciously returning to the same point and repeating
the same arguments over and over again, forcing me to
reiterate the same replies, I at length turned short and
sharp upon him, and my last words were—

« I tell you plainly, that it cannot be. No considera-
tion can induce me to marry against my inclinations.
I respect you — at least, I would respect you, if you
would behave like a sensible man — but I cannot love
you, and never could — and the more you talk the
further you repel me ; so pray don’t say any more
about it.”

Whereupon, he wished me a good morning and with-
drew, disconcerted and offended, no doubt ; but surely
it was not my fault.

THE next day, I accompanied my uncle and aunt
to a dinner-party at Mr Wil mot’s. He had
two ladies staying with him, his niece Anna-
bella, a fine dashing girl, or rather young woman, of
some five-and-twenty, too great a flirt to be married,
according to her own assertion, but greatly admired
by the gentlemen, who universally pronounced her a
splendid woman, — and her’ gentle cousin Milicent
Hargrave, who had taken a violent fancy to me, mis-
taking me for something vastly better than I was. And
I, in return, was very fond of her. I should entirely

-o-

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

151

exclude poor Milicent in my general animadversions
against the ladies of my acquaintance. But it was not
on her account, or her cousin’s, that I have mentioned

Txri Party : was ^or the s:‘ke of another of Mr

Wilmot’s guests, to wit Mr Huntingdon. I have good
reason to remember his presence there, for this was the
last time I saw him.

He did not sit near me at dinner ; for it was his
fate to hand in a capacious old dowager, and mine to be
handed in by Mr Grimbsy, a friend of his, but a man
i very greatly disliked : there was a sinister cast in his
countenance, and a mixture of lurking ferocity and ful-
some insincerity in his demeanour, that I could not
away with. What a tiresome custom that is, by-the-
bye one among the many sources of factitious annoy-
ance of this ultra-civilised life. If the gentlemen must
lead the ladies into the dining-room, why cannot they
take those they like best ?

I am not sure, however, that Mr Huntingdon
would have taken me, if he had been at liberty
to make his own selection. It is quite possible
he might have chosen Miss Wilmot ; for she seemed
bent upon engrossing his attention to herself, and
he seemed nothing loath to pay the homage she de-
manded. I thought so, at least, when I saw how they
talked and laughed, and glanced across the table to the
neglect and evident umbrage of their respective neigh-
j b°urs— and afterwards, as the gentlemen joined us in
the drawing-room, when she, immediately upon his
j entrance, loudly called upon him to be the arbiter of a
dispute between herself and another lady, and he an-
swered the summons with alacrity, and decided the

question without a moment’s hesitation in her favour

though, to my thinking, she was obviously in the wrong
—and then stood chatting familiarly with her and a
group of other ladies; while I sat with Milicent

*52

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

3

Hargrave at the opposite end of the room, looking over
the latter’s drawings, and aiding her with my critical
observations and advice, at her particular desire. But
in spite of my efforts to remain composed, my attention
wandered from the drawings to the merry group, and
against my better judgment my wrath rose, and doubt-
less my countenance lowered ; for Milicent, observing
that I must be tired of her daubs and scratches, begged
I would join the company now, and defer the examina-
tion of the remainder to another opportunity. But while
I was assuring her that I had no wish to join them, and
was not tired, Mr Huntingdon himself came up to the
little round table at which we sat.

“ Are these yours ? ” said he, carelessly taking up one
of the drawings.

“No, they are Miss Hargrave’s.”

“ Oh ! well, let’s have a look at them.”

And, regardless of Miss Hargrave’s protestations that
they were not worth looking at, he drew a chair to my
side, and receiving the drawings, one by one, from my
hand, successively scanned them over, and threw them
on the table, but said not a word about them, though
he was talking all the time. I don’t know what
Milicent Hargrave thought of such conduct, but I
found his conversation extremely interesting, though, as
I afterwards discovered, when I came to analyse it, it
was chiefly confined to quizzing the different members
of the company present ; and albeit he made some clever
remarks, and some excessively droll ones, I do not
think the whole would appear anything very particular,
if written here, without the adventitious aids of look,
and tone, and gesture, and that ineffable but indefinite
charm, which cast a halo over all he did and said, and
which would have made it a delight to look in his face,
and hear the music of his voice, if he had been talking
positive nonsense — and which, moreover, made me feel

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

XS3

so bitter against my aunt when she put a stop to this
enjoyment, by coming composedly forward, under pre-
tence of wishing to see the drawings, that she cared and
knew nothing about, and while making believe to ex-
amine them, addressing herself to Mr Huntingdon, with
one of her coldest and most repellent aspects, and
beginning a series of the most commonplace and for-
midably formal questions and observations, on purpose
to wiest his attention from me — on purpose to vex me,
as I thought : and having now looked through the port-
folio, I left them to their tete-a-tete, and seated myself
on a sofa, quite apart from the company — never thinking
how strange such conduct would appear, but merely to
indulge, at first, the vexation of the moment, and
subsequently to enjoy my private thoughts.

But I was not left long alone, for Mr Wilmot, of all
men the least welcome, took advantage of my isolated
position to come and plant himself beside me. I had
nattered myself that I had so effectually repulsed his
advances on all former occasions, that I had nothing
moie to apprehend from his unfortunate predilection •
but it seems I was mistaken : so great was his confidence’
either in his wealth or his remaining powers of attrac-
tion, and so firm his conviction of feminine weakness,
that he thought himself warranted to return to the siege
which he did with renovated ardour, enkindled bv the
quantity of wine he had drunk— a circumstance that
lendeied him infinitely the more disgusting; but greatly
as I abhorred him at that moment, I did not like to
treat him with rudeness, as I was now his guest and had
just been enjoying his hospitality; and I was no hand
at a polite but determined rejection, nor would it have
greatly availed me if I had ; for he was too coarse-
minded to take any repulse that was not as plain and
positive as his own effrontery. The consequence was,
that he waxed more fulsomely tender, and more re-

is w ioWP

154 THE TENANT OF WILD FELL HALL.

pulsively warm, and I was driven to the very verge of
desperation, and about to say, I know not what, when
I felt my hand, that hung over the arm of t^e sofa,
suddenly taken by another and gently but fervently
pressed. Instinctively, I guessed who it was, and, on
looking up, was less surprised than delighted to see Mr
Huntingdon smiling upon me. It was like turning from
some purgatorial fiend to an angel of light, come to
announce that the season of torment was past.

“ Helen,” said he (he frequently called me Helen,
and I never resented the freedom), “I want you to
look at this picture : Mr Wilmot will excuse you a
moment, I’m sure.”

I rose with alacrity. He drew my arm within his,
and led me across the room to a splendid painting of
Vandyke’s that I had noticed before, but not sufficiently
examined. After a moment of silent contemplation, I
was beginning to comment on its beauties and peculiar-
ities, when, playfully pressing the hand he still retained
within his arm, he interrupted me with —

“Never mind the picture, it was not for that I
brought you here ; it was to get you away from that
scoundrelly old profligate yonder, who is looking as if
he would like to challenge me for the affront.”

“I am very much obliged to you,” said I. “This
is twice you have delivered me from such unpleasant
companionship.”

“ Don’t be too thankful,” he answered : “ it is not

all kindness to you ; it is partly from a feeling of spite
to your tormentors that makes me delighted to do the
old fellows a bad turn, though I don’t think I have
any great reason to dread them as rivals. Have I,
Helen?”

“ You know I detest them both.”

“ And me?”

“ I have no reason to detest you.”

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

155

“ But what are your sentiments towards me ? Helen ?
— Speak ! How do you regard me ? ”

And again he pressed my hand ; but I feared there
was more of conscious power than tenderness in his
demeanour, and I felt he had no right to extort a con-
fession of attachment from me when he had made no
correspondent avowal himself, and knew not what to
answer. At last I said —

“ How do you regard me ? ”

“ Sweet angel, I adore you ! I ” .

“ Helen, I want you a moment,” said the distinct,
low voice of my aunt, close beside us. And I left
him, muttering maledictions against his evil angel.

Well, aunt, what is it ? What do you want ? ”
said I, following her to the embrasure of the
window.

“ I want you to join the company, when you are fit
to be seen,” returned she, severely regarding me ; “ but
please to stay here a little till that shocking colour is
somewhat abated, and your eyes have recovered some-
thing of their natural expression. I should be ashamed
for any one to see you in your present state.”

Of course, such a remark had no effect in reducing
the “ shocking colour ; ” on the contrary, I felt my
face glow with redoubled fires kindled by a complica-
tion of emotions, of which indignant, swelling anger was
the chief. I offered no reply, however, but pushed
aside the curtain and looked into the night — or rather
into the lamp-lit square.

. << Was Mr Huntingdon proposing to you, Helen ? ”
inquired my too watchful relative.

“ No.”

66 What was he saying then ? I heard something
very like it.” 6

66 ^ ^on t know what he would have said, if you
hadn’t interrupted him.” J

156 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

“ And would you have accepted him, Helen, if he
had proposed ? ”

“ Of course not — without consulting uncle and you.”

“ Oh ! I’m glad, my dear, you haye so much
prudence left. Well, now, ’ she added, after a
moment’s pause, “ you have made yourself conspicuous
enough for one evening. The ladies are directing in-
quiring glances towards us at this moment I see. I
shall join them. Do you come too, when you are
sufficiently composed to appear as usual.”

“ I am so now.”

“ Speak gently then ; and don’t look so malicious,”
said my calm, but provoking aunt. “We shall return
home shortly, and then,” she added, with solemn sig-
nificance, “ I have much to say to you.”

So I went home prepared for a formidable lecture.
Little was said by either party in the carriage during
our short transit homewards ; but when I had entered
my room and thrown myself into an easy-chair to reflect
on the events of the day, my aunt followed me thither,
and having dismissed Rachel, who was carefully stow-
ing away my ornaments, closed the door ; and placing a
chair beside me, or rather at right angles with mine, sat
down. With due deference I offered her my more
commodious seat. She declined it, and thus opened
the conference —

“Do you remember, Helen, our conversation the
night but one before we left Staningley ? ”

“Yes, aunt.”

“ And do you remember how I warned you against
letting your heart be stolen from you by those unworthy
of its possession ; and fixing your affections where
approbation did not go before, and where reason and
judgment withheld their sanction ? ”

“Yes, but my reason”

“ Pardon me — and do you remember assuring me

the tenant ~of ‘WCdFECl hall. 157

that there was no occasion for uneasiness on your
account ; for you should never be tempted to marry a
man who was deficient in sense or principle, however
handsome or charming in other respects he might be,
for you could not love him, you should hate — despise
pity anything but love him — were not those vour
words ? ” J

“Yes, but”

And did you not say that your affection must be
founded on approbation; and that unless you could
approve and honour and respect, you could not love ? ”

Yes, but I do approve, and honour, and re-
spect ”

“ How so, my dear ? Is Mr Huntingdon a good
man r

“He is a much better man than you think him.”

“ That is nothing to the purpose. Is he a good
man ? &

^es *n some respects. He has a good disposition.”
“ Is he a man of principle ? ”

Perhaps not, exactly ; but it is only for want of
thought : if he had some one to advise him, and remind
him of what is right ”

“ He would soon learn, you think — and you yourself
would willingly undertake to be his teacher? But,
my dear, he is, I believe, full ten years older than
you— how is it that you are so before-hand in moral
acquirements ? ”

“ Thanks to you, aunt, I have been well brought up,
and had good examples always before me, which he,
most likely, has not ; and besides, he is of a sanguine
temperament, and a gay, thoughtless temper, and I am
naturally inclined to reflection.”

“Well, now you have made him out to be de-
ficient in both sense and principle, by your own
confession ”

158 the fMMY GF WILBFell hall.

“ Then, my sense and my principle are at his
service ! ”

“ That sounds presumptuous, Helen ! Do you think
you have enough for both ; and do you imagine your
merry, thoughtless profligate would allow himself to be
guided by a young girl like you i” .

«No; I should not wish to guide him ; but I think
I might have influence sufficient to save him from some
errors, and I should think my life well spent in the
effort to preserve so noble a nature from destruction.
He always listens attentively now, when I speak
seriously to him (and I often venture to reprove his
random way of talking), and sometimes he says that if
he had me always by his side he should never do or
say a wicked thing, and that a little daily talk with me
would make him quite a saint. It may be partly jest
and partly flattery, but still ”

“ But still you think it may be truth ? ”

“ If I do think there is any mixture of truth in it, it
is not from confidence in my own powers, but in his
natural goodness. And you have no right to call him
a profligate, aunt ; he is nothing of the kind.

“Who told you so, my dear? What was that
story about his intrigue with a married lady — Lady
who was it- — Miss Wilmot herself was telling you the
other day V9

“ It was false— false ! ” I cried. “ I don t believe
a word of it.”

“ You think, then, that he is a virtuous, well-con-
ducted young man ? ”

“ I know nothing positive respecting his character.
I only know that I have heard nothing definite against
it — nothing that could be proved, at least ; and till
people can prove their slanderous accusations, I will not
believe them. And I know this, that if he has com-
mitted errors, they are only such as are common to

the tenant of wildfell hall.

*59

youth, and such as nobody thinks anything about ; for
I see that everybody likes him, and all the mammas
smile upon him, and their daughters— and Miss Wilmot
herself— are only too glad to attract his attention.”
Helen, the world may look upon such offences as
venial ; a few unprincipled mothers may be anxious to
catch a young man of fortune without reference to his
character; and thoughtless girls may be glad to win
he smiles of so handsome a gentleman, without seeking
to penetrate beyond the surface; but you, I trusted
were better informed than to see with Vir eyes“ and

^ PerVert.e<? jud2ment‘ I did not think
you would call these venial errors ! ”

“Nor do I, aunt ; but if I hate the sins I love the
sinner, and would do much for his salvation, even

supposing your suspicions to be mainly true— which I

do not and will not believe.”

he a®'K your unc,e what sort of company

he keeps, and ,f he is not banded with a set of loose!
profligate ya.it£ men, whom he ca]]s hig friends_his

joay companions, and whose chief delight is to wallow
m vice, and vie with each other who can run fastest and
furthest down the headlong road to the place prepared
for the devil and his angels.” ^

Then, I will save him from them.”

“ Oh, Helen, Helen ! you little know the misery of
uniting your fortunes to such a man ! ”

“ I have such confidence in him, aunt, notwithstand-
mg all you say, that I would willingly risk my happiness
for the chance of securing his. I will leave better men
to those who only consider their own advantage. If
he has done amiss, I shall consider my life well spent
m saving him from the consequences of his early errors
and striving to recall him to the path of virtue. God
grant me success ! ”

Here the conversation ended, for at this juncture my

l6o THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

uncle’s voice was heard, from his chamber, loudly call-
ins upon my aunt to come to bed. He was in a bad
humour that night; for his gout was worse. It had
been gradually increasing upon him ever since we came
to town; and my aunt took advantage of the cncum-
stance, next morning, to persuade him to return to the
country immediately, without waiting for the close of the
season. His physician supported and enforced her argu-
ments ; and contrary to her usual habits, she so hurried
the preparations for removal (as much for my sake as
my uncle’s, I think), that in a very few days we
departed ; and. I saw no more of Mr Huntingdon. _ My
aunt flatters herself I shall soon forget Him— perhaps
she thinks I have fefgQtten him, already, for I nevei
mention his name; and sh^ may continue to think so
till we meet again-if eve^at should be. I wonder
if it will.

(jg>\ Chapter jcfeitj.

August 25 th.

1AM now quite settled down to my usual routine of
steady occupations and quiet amusements — toler-
ably contented and cheerful, but still looking forward
to spring with the hope of returning to town, not for its
gaieties and dissipations, but for the chance, of meeting
Mr Huntingdon once again ; for still, he is always in
my thoughts and in my dreams. In all my employ-
ments, whatever I do, or see, or hear, has an ultimate
reference to him ; whatever skill or knowledge I acquire
is some day to be turned to his advantage or amuse-
ment ; whatever new beauties in nature or art I discover,
are to be depicted to meet his eye, or stored in ^y
memory to be told him at some future period. This,
at least, is the hope that I cherish, the fancy that lights

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL. 161

me on my lonely way. It may be only an ignis fatuus,
after all, but it can do no harm to follow it with my
eyes and rejoice ,n its lustre, as long as it does not lure
me f'om the path I ought to keep ; and I think it will
not, foi I have thought deeply on my aunt’s advice, and
I see clearly, now, the folly of throwing myself away
on one that is unworthy of all the Jove I have to give7
and incapable of responding to the best and deepest feel-
mgs of my inmost heart— so clearly, that even if I
should see him again, and if he should remember me
and love me still (which, alas ! is too little probable
considenng how he ,s situated, and by whom surrounded),
and if he should ask me to marry him— I am determined
not to consent until I know for certain whether my
.aunt s opinion of him or mine is nearest the truth ; for
it mine is altogether wrong, it is not he that I love • it
IS a creature of my own imagination. But I think it is
not wrong— no, no— there is a secret something— an
inward instinct that assures me I am right. There is
essential goodness in him and what delight to unfold
, . it he has wandered, what bliss to recall him 1 If
now exposed to the baneful influence of corrupting

hPmT nl|0nrPTni0n^U;hat Sl0r? t0 deIiver him from
hem • Oh ! if I could but believe that Heaven has
designed me for this !

rdlr°eddth ‘S ““ ^ °f SePtember5 my uncle has
rdered the gamekeeper to spare the partridges till the

entlemen come. ‘‘What gentlemen? ’’ I asked when

a J'Txr-?™11 party he had invited to shoot. His
lend Mr Wilmot was one, and my aunt’s friend Mr

>oarham another. This struck me as terrible news, at
Z m°™ent> butL al] /egret and apprehension vanished
ke a dream when I heard that Mr Huntingdon was

>mW7 t0f ^ 3 th,rd- My aunt is Sreat]y against his
:>ming’ of coarse : she earnestly endeavoured to dis-

L L

162

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

suade my uncle from asking him ; but he, laughing at
her objections, told her it was no use talking, for the
mischief was already done : he had invited Huntingdon
and his friend Lord Lowborough before we left London,
and nothing now remained but to fix the day for their
coming. So he is safe, and I am sure of seeing him.
I cannot express my joy. I find it very difficult tc
conceal it from my aunt ; but I don’t wish to trouble
her with my feelings till I know whether I ought tc
indulge them or not. If I find it my absolute duty tc
suppress them, they shall trouble no one but myself
and if I can really feel myself justified in indulging thi;
attachment, I can dare anything, even the anger anc
grief of my best friend, for its object — surely, I shal
soon know. But they are not coming till about th<
middle of the month.

We are to have two lady visitors also : Mr Wilmo
is to bring his niece and her cousin Milicent. I sup
pose, my aunt thinks the latter will benefit me by he
society and the salutary example of her gentle deport
ment, and lowly and tractable spirit ; and the former,
suspect, she intends as a species of counter attraction t
win Mr Huntingdon’s attention from me. I don5
thank her for this ; but 1 shall be glad of Milicent5
company : she is a sweet, good girl, and I wish I wei
like her — more like her, at least, than I am.

1 9 th. — They are come. They came the day befoi
yesterday. The gentlemen are all gone out to shoo
and the ladies are with my aunt, at work, in tl
drawing-room. I have retired to the library, for I a|
very unhappy, and I want to be alone. Books cannc
divert me ; so having opened my desk, I will try wh;
may be done by detailing the cause of my uneasines
This paper will serve instead of a confidential frien
into whose ear I might pour forth the overflowings <

THE TENANT OF W1LDFELL HALL.

163

my heart. It will not sympathise with my distresses,
but then, it will not laugh at them, and, if I keep it
close, it cannot tell again ; so it is, perhaps, the best
friend I could have for the purpose.

1 First, let me speak of his arrival— how I sat at my
window, and watched for nearly two hours, before his
: carriage entered the park gates— for they all came before
him, and how deeply I was disappointed at every
' arrival, because it was not his. First came Mr Wilmot

I and the ladies. When Milicent had got into her room,

I I quitted my post a few minutes, to look in upon her,
and have a little private conversation, for she was now
my intimate friend, several long epistles having passed
between us since our parting. On returning to my

1 window, I beheld another carriage at the door. Was
it his ? No ; it was Mr Boarham’s plain, dark chariot ;
and there stood he upon the steps, carefully superintend-
jing the dislodging of his various boxes and packages.

1 What a collection ! one would have thought he pro-
jected a visit of six months at least. A considerable
time after, came Lord Lowborough in his barouche.
Is he one of the profligate friends, I wonder ? I should
think not ; for no one could call him a jolly companion,

I m sure,— and besides, he appears too sober and gentle-
manly in his demeanour, to merit such suspicions. He
s a tall, thin, gloomy-looking man, apparently between
.hirty and foity, and of a somewhat sickly, careworr
aspect.

At last, Mr Huntingdon’s light phaeton came bowl-
)g merrily up the lawn. I had but a transient glimpse
>f him, for the moment it stopped, he sprang out over
he side on to the portico steps, and disappeared into
She house.

I now submitted to be dressed for dinner— a duty
vhich Rachel had been urging upon me for the last
wenty minutes ; and when that important business was

164 the tenant of wildfell hall.

completed, I repaired to the drawing-room, where I
found Mr and Miss Wilmot, and Milicent Hargrave,
already assembled. Shortly after, Lord Lowborough
entered, and then Mr Boarham, who seemed quite
willing to forget and forgive my former conduct, and to
hope that a little conciliation and steady perseverance on
his part might yet succeed in bringing me to reason.
While I stood at the window, conversing with Milicent, j
he came up to me, and was beginning to talk in nearly
his usual strain, when Mr Huntingdon entered the
room.

“ How will he greet me, I wonder ? ” said my bound-
ing heart; and, instead of advancing to meet him, I.
turned to the window to hide or subdue my emotion.
But having saluted his host and hostess, and the rest off
the company, he came to me, ardently squeezed my
hand, and murmured he was glad to see me once again!
At that moment dinner was announced, my aunt desired
him to take Miss Hargrave into the dining-room, and
odious Mr Wilmot, with unspeakable grimaces, offered
his arm to me ; and I was condemned to sit between 1
himself and Mr Boarham. But, afterwards, when wd:
were all again assembled in the drawing-room, I was
indemnified for so much suffering by a few delightful s
minutes of conversation with Mr Huntingdon.

In the course of the evening, Miss Wilmot wa s
called upon to sing and play for the amusement of the i
company, and I to exhibit my drawings, and, though her*
likes music, and she is an accomplished musician, Jot,
think I am right in affirming, that he paid more atten-diel
tion to my drawings than to her music. 'trj

So far, so good ; — but, hearing him pronounce, sotto«|
voce, but with peculiar emphasis, concerning one of^l!
the pieces, “ This is better than all ! ” — I looked up,^l
curious to see which it was, and, to my horror, beheld’
him complacently gazing at the back of the picture : —

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

i65

it was his own face that I had sketched there, and for-
gotten to rub out! To make matters worse, in the
agony of the moment, I attempted to snatch it from his
hand ; but he prevented me, and exclaiming, “ No— by
George, 1 11 keep it ! ” placed it against his waistcoat,
and buttoned his coat upon it with a delighted
chuckle.

Then, drawing a candle close to his elbow, he
gathered all the drawings to himself, as well what he
had seen as the others, and muttering, “ I must look
at both sides now,” he eagerly commenced an examina-
tion, which I watched, at first, with tolerable composure,
in the confidence that his vanity would not be gratified
by any further discoveries ; for, though I must plead
guilty to having disfigured the backs of several with
aboitive attempts to delineate that too fascinating
physiognomy, I was sure that, with that one unfortunate
exception, I had carefully obliterated all such witnesses
of my infatuation. But the pencil frequently leaves an
impression upon card-board, that no amount of rubbing
can efface. Such, it seems, was the case with most
of these ; and, I confess, I trembled, when I saw him
holding them so close to the candle, and poring so
intently over the seeming blanks ; but still, I trusted,
‘he would not be able to make out these dim traces to
his own satisfaction. I was mistaken, however — having
ended his scrutiny, he quietly remarked —

I perceive the backs of young ladies’ drawings,
like the postscripts of their letters, are the most import-
ant and interesting part of the concern.”

1 Then, leaning back in his chair, he reflected a few
minutes in silence, complacently smiling to himself, and,
while I was concocting some cutting speech wherewith
o check his gratification, he rose, and passing over to
where Annabella Wilmot sat vehemently coquetting
with Lord Lowborough, seated himself on the sofa

1 66 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

beside her, and attached himself to her for the rest of

the evening. .

« So then ! ” thought I — “ he despises me, because

he knows I love him.”

And the reflection made me so miserable— 1 knew
not what to do. Milicent came and began to admire
my drawings, and make remarks upon them ; but I
could not talk to her— I could talk to no one ; and,
upon the introduction of tea, I took advantage of
the open door and the slight diversion caused by its
entrance, to slip out — for I was sure I could not take
any — and take refuge in the library. My aunt sent
Thomas in quest of me, to ask if I were not coming
to tea ; but I bade him say, I should not take any
to-night ; and, happily, she was too much occupied
with her guests, to make any further inquiries at the

As most of the company had travelled far that day,
they retired early to rest ; and having heard them all,
as I thought, go upstairs, I ventured out, to get my
candlestick from the drawing-room side-board. But
Mr Huntingdon had lingered behind the rest : he was
just at the foot of the stairs, when I opened the door ;
and, hearing my step in the hall— though I could
hardlv hear it myself — he instantly turned ba^-k.

« Helen, is that you ? ” said he ; “ why did you rax\

away from us ? ” ...

“ Good night, Mr Huntingdon, said I coldly, not
choosing to answer the question. And I turned away

to enter the drawing-room.

« But you’ll shake hands, won t you ? said he,
placing himself in the doorway, before me. And
seized my hand, and held it much against my will.

“ Let me go, Mr Huntingdon ! ” said I — “ I wa
to get a candle.”

« The candle will keep,” returned he.

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL. 1 67

I made a desperate effort to free my hand from his
grasp.

i

“ Why are you in such a hurry to leave me, Helen ?”
he said, with a smile of the most provoking self-suffici-
ency— “ you don’t hate me, you know.”

“ Yes, I do — at this moment.”

“ Not you ! It is Annabella Wilmot you hate, not
me.

I have nothing to do with Annabella Wilmot,”
said 1, burning with indignation.

But I have, you know, returned he, with peculiar
emphasis.

“ That is nothing to me, sir ! ” I retorted.

Is it nothing to you, Helen ? — Will you swear it ?
— Will you ? ”

“ No, I won’t, Mr Huntingdon ! and I will go! ”
cried I, not knowing whether to laugh, or to cry, or to
break out into a tempest of fury.

“ p°> then> you vixen ! ” he said ; but the instant
he released my hand, he had the audacity to put his arm
round my neck, and kiss me.

Trembling with anger and agitation— and I don’t
know what besides, I broke away, and got my candle,
and rushed upstairs to my room. He would not have
done so, but for that hateful picture! And there he
had it still in his possession, an eternal monument to his
pride and my humiliation !

It was but little sleep I got that night ; and, in the
morning, I rose . perplexed and troubled with the
thoughts of meeting him at breakfast. I knew not
how it was to be done — an assumption of dignified,
<ieni indifference would hardly do, after what he knew
nr my devotion— to his face, at least. Yet something
'aust be done to check his presumption — I would not
Pubmit to be tyrannised over by those bright, laughing
eyes. And, accordingly, I received his cheerful morn-

1 68 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

ing salutation as calmly and coldly as my aunt could
have wished, and defeated with brief answers his one or
two attempts to draw me into conversation ; while I
comported myself with unusual cheerfulness and com-
plaisance towards every other member of the party,
especially Annabella Wilmot, and even her uncle and
Mr Boarham were treated with an extra amount of
civility on the occasion, not from any motives of
coquetry, but just to show him that my particular cool-
ness and reserve arose from no general ill-humour or
depression of spirits.

He was not, however, to be repelled by such acting
as this. He did not talk much to me, but when he did
speak it was with a degree of freedom and openness —
and kindliness too — that plainly seemed to intimate he
knew his words were music to my ears ; and when his
looks met mine it was with a smile — presumptuous it
might be — but oh, so sweet, so bright, so genial, that I
could not possibly retain my anger ; every vestige of dis-
pleasure soon melted away beneath it like morning
clouds before the summer sun.

Soon after breakfast all the gentlemen save one, with
boyish eagerness, set out on their expedition against the
hapless partridges ; my uncle and Mr Wilmot on their L !
shooting ponies, Mr Huntingdon and Lc:d Low-
borough on their legs : the one exception being Mr f)|
Boarham, who, in consideration of the rain that had
fallen during the night, thought it prudent to remain
behind a little and join them in a while when the sun
had dried the grass. And he favoured us all with a
long and minute disquisition upon the evils and dangerA, j
attendant upon damp feet, delivered with the most d hji
perturbable gravity, amid the jeers and laughter of 1 dm
Huntingdon and my uncle, who, leaving the prude;ai»
sportsman to entertain the ladies with his medical dis M
cussions, sallied forth with their guns, bending their 4

the TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL. 169

&rt£Vogsb,es first to have a iook at the h°rses and

.,pNot, d.csiro“s °f shar>ng Mr Boarham’s company for
t:h0V the morning, I betook myself J the
pabint y’ a"dthei'e brought forth my easel and began to

serve" as an ^ ,the, Pa.lnt,ng apparatus would
® „ ! I u m f°r abandon'nS ^e drawing-room if
my aunt should come to complain of the desertion and
bes,des f wanted to finish the picture. It was one 1
had taken great pains with, and I intended it to be my

the de!-'eCe’ S°U? 't.WaS somewhat presumptuous in
the design. By the bright azure of the sky, and by the

warm and brilliant lights and deep long shadows, / had
e deavoured to convey the idea of a sunny morning . I
had ventuied to give more of the bright verdure of
spring or early summer to the grass and foliage than is
commonly attempted in painting. The scene repre-
sented was an open glade in a wood. A group of
ark Scotch firs was introduced in the middle distance
to relieve the prevailing freshness of the rest ; but in
the foreground were part of the gnarled trunk and of
the spreading boughs of a large forest tree, whose
foliage was of a brilliant golden green-not golden from
utumnal mellowness, but from the sunshine and the
y immaturity of the scarce expanded leaves. Upon
tbs bough, that stood out in bold relief against the
sombre firs, were seated an amorous pair of turtle doves

another ^t Sad’Col°ured PIumaSe abided a contrast of

Ton the T-5 and h?!,3111 k 3 y0Un§ S'rl was kneel-
g on the daisy-spangled turf with head thrown back

md ^ masses of fair hair falling on her shoulders, her
«,eni!> clasped, lips parted, and eyes intently gazing up-

'\rd ln. PIeased yet eamest contemplation of those
gathered lovers-too deeply absorbed in each other to
ptice her.

I had scarcely settled to my work, which, however,

170

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

wanted but a few touches to the finishing, when the
sportsmen passed the window on their return fiom the
stables. It was partly open, and Mr Huntingdon must
have seen me as he went by, for in half a minute he
came back, and setting his gun against the wall threw
up the sash and sprang in and set himself before my
picture.

“ Very pretty, i’faith ; ” said he, after attentively
regarding it for a few seconds ; “ and a very fitting
study for a young lady. Spring just opening into
summer— morning just approaching noon — girlhood just
ripening into womanhood, and hope just verging on
fruition. She’s a sweet creature ! but why didn’t you
make her black hair ? ”

“ I thought light hair would suit her better. You
see I have made her blue-eyed and plump, and fair and

“ Upon my word — a very Hebe ! I should fall in
love with her if I hadn’t the artist before me. Sweet
innocent 1 she’s thinking there will come a time when
she will be wooed and won like that pretty hen-dove by
as fond and fervent a lover ; and she’s thinking how
pleasant it will be, and how tender and faithful he will
find her.”

“And, perhaps,” suggested I, “how tender and

faithful she shall find him.”

“ Perhaps, for there is no limit to the wild extrava-
gance of Hope’s imaginings at such an age.”

“ Do you call that, then, one of her wild, extrava-
gant delusions i” >

“ No ; my heart tells me it is not. I might have
thought so once, but now, I say, give me the gi
love, and I will swear eternal constancy to her and K
alone, through summer and winter, through youth atf
age, and life and death ! if age and death must come. |
He spoke this in such serious earnest that my heafl

■

the tenant of wildfell HALL. 1 7 I

bounded with delight ; but the minute after he changed
his tone, and asked, with a significant smile, if I had
“any more portraits.” ’ 1 tad

But mv’n/ff rd reddening WIth confusion and wrath.
But my portfolio was on the table : he took it up and
coolly sat down to examine its contents. P’

cried I .<rAngd0n’ t,h°Se 3re my unfinished sketches,”
a J T I,never Jet any one see them.”

fmm L- 1 * k aceu my -hand on the portfolio to wrest it
£ ™ h'm,’ bu‘ hl maintained his hold, assuring me that
he liked unfinished sketches of all things.”

can’t U 1 hf them t0 be seen>” returned I. « I
can t let you have it, indeed ! ”

“Let “f have its bowels then,” said he; and just
as I wrenched the portfolio from his hand he deS
abstracted the greater part of its contents, and after
turning them over a moment he cried out—

“ Bless my stars, here’s another ! ” and slipped a
small oval of ivory paper into his waistcoat pocket— a

tderahlp mlmature P0™-3* that I had sketched with such
erable success as to be induced to colour it with great
pains^d care. But I was determined he shouKt

i tha:tkHUrgd0n’” cHed l> ‘$I insist “Pon having
it r; 1 * * * J.mine’ 3nd you have no right to take

I £n’t T»e 11 me’ d,rectly— ru never forgive8 * you if you

But the more vehemently I insisted, the more he

l At Wthd d,Stre.SS by his “suiting gleeful laugh.

A«Wll’ 10neVer’ he restored it to me, saying—

•leprWpu of y“ Va'" " ™=h> 1,11 “•

< To show him how I valued it I tore it in two and

Jhiew it into the fire. He was not prepared for this,

ri merriment suddenly ceasing, he stared in mute

imazement at the consuming treasure ; and then with a

172

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

careless “ Humph ! I'll go and shoot now,’ he turned
on his heel, and vacated the apartment by the window
as he came, and setting on his hat with an air, took up
his gun and walked away, whistling as he went— and
leaving me not too much agitated to finish my picture,
for I was glad, at the moment, that I had vexed him.

When I returned to the drawing-room, I found Mr
Boarham had ventured to follow his comrades to the
field ; and shortly after lunch, to which they did not
think of returning, I volunteered to accompany the
ladies in a walk, and show Annabella and Milicent the
beauties of the country. We took a long ramble, and
re-entered the park just as the sportsmen were returning
from their expedition. Toil-spent and travel-stained,
the main body of them crossed over the grass to avoid
us, but Mr Huntingdon, all spattered and splashed as he
was, and stained with the blood of his prey to
the no small offence of my aunt’s strict . sense or
propriety — came out of his way to meet us with cheei-
ful smiles and words for all but me, and placing himself
between Annabella Wilmot and myself walked up the
road and began to relate the various exploits and
disasters of the day, in a manner that would have con-
vulsed me with laughter if I had been on good terms
with him ; but he addressed himself entirely to Anna-
bella, and I, of course, left all the laughter and all the
badinage to her, and affecting the utmost indifference to j
whatever passed between them, walked along a few
paces apart, and looking every way but theirs, while my
or wpnt. before, linked arm in arm, and

whisper, said — „

“ Helen, why did you burn my picture ?

“ Because I wished to destroy it,” I answered, with

VI ctVCiy Uiowuiomg . , ,

don turned to me, and addressing me in a confident!;

an asperity it is useless now to lament.

THE TENANT OF YVILDFELL HALL.

173

“°h, very good!” was the reply, “if you don’t
value me, I must turn to somebody that will ”

1 thought it was partly in jest— a half-playful mixture
0 mock resignation and pretended indifference • but
immediately he resumed his place beside Miss Wi’lmot
and from that hour to this-during all .to
al the next day and the next, and the next, and all
i*i morning (the 22nd), he has never given me one
tiZ't " °" p!““> lo«k-»e,„ spoken "to
J/”’;1' "«'“ty--"ever glanced tolards me bo

y ,l’0"gh' hi" ’“ile

My aunt observes the change, and though she has
not inquired the cause or made any remark to me on
ie subject, I see it gives her pleasure. Miss Wilmot
observes it too, and triumphantly ascribes it to her own
superior charms and blandishments; but I am truT

m5 '7"r ? ,hm l “ acknowledge"!^
htn L P d ref“sesJ° aid me. It has brought me
nto the scrape, and will not help me out of it.

spirit! mandThharm'“it WaS °nly h,‘S j°y0US’ PIayfuI

«"»»■. .0 d^,serrr“S“b°‘-!o
a" •*SS’ZtZ’i

„’le will never forgive me— and all for a mere iest ■
e thinks I dislike him, and he must continue to think

I'i" l ™St loseu h,m for ever, and Annabella may win
11m, and triumph as she will. '

O P!!e\dvSr!t7 l0SS r rer trirmph that 1 deP!oie

0 gieatly as the wreck of my fond hopes for his
dvantage, and her unworthiness of his affection and

1 vrys;rd 1 d° “r,f> ***£

1 erself Ihn l0VC hlm : she thinks only of

i!e ! iil -f? Dn° appreC,ate the good that is in him:

L "I "!® u’ ,ValUC h> n0r cherish «• She

( ther deplore his faults nor attempt their amend-

J74

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

ment, but rather aggravate them by her own. And I
doubt whether she will not deceive him after all. I
see she is playing double between him and Lord
Lowborough, and while she amuses herself with the
lively Huntingdon she tries her utmost to enslave his
moody friend ; and should she succeed in bringing both
to her feet, the fascinating commoner will have but little
chance against the lordly peer. If he observes her art-
ful by-play it gives him no uneasiness, but rather adds
new zest to his diversion by opposing a stimulating
check to his otherwise too easy conquest.

Messrs Wilmot and Boarham have severally taken
occasion by his neglect of me to renew their advances ;
and if I were like Annabella and some others I should
take advantage of their perseverance to endeavour to
pique him into a revival of affection ; but, justice and
honesty apart, I could not bear to do it ; I am annoyed
enough by their present persecutions without encourag-
ing them further ; and even if I did it would have
precious little effect upon him. He sees me suffering;
under the condescending attentions and prosaic dis-
courses of the one, and the repulsive obtrusions of the)
other, without so much as a shadow of commiseration
for me, or resentment against my tormentors. He
never could have loved me, or he would not have
resigned me so willingly, and he would not go on talk-
ing to everybody else so cheerfully as he does — laughing
and jesting with Lord Lowborough and my uncle, >
teasing Milicent Hargrave, and flirting with Annabella ;j
Wilmot — as if nothing were on his mind. Oh, why ll
can’t I hate him ? I must be infatuated, or I should
scorn to regret him as I do ! But I must rally all the
powers I have remaining, and try to tear him from rnyj
heart. There goes the dinner bell, and here comes r hy'
aunt to scold me for sitting here at my desk all dhavj
instead of staying with the company : wish the compat i v^|
were — gone.

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

H5

Chapter pip

'TTWENTY-SECOND. Nigh, -What have I

1 done ? and what will be the end of it ? I
cannot calmly reflect upon it ; I cannot sleep.
I must have recourse to my diary again ; I will commit
it to paper to-night, and see what I shall think of it
to-morrow.

I went down to dinner resolving to be cheerful and
well-conducted, and kept my resolution very creditably,
considering how my head ached, and how internally
wretched I felt— I don’t know what is come over me
of late ; my very energies, both mental and physical,
must be strangely impaired, or I should not have acted
so weakly in many respects as I have done but I

j a'|e )n0,t ^en wej^ t^.*s ^ast daY or two : I suppose it
is with sleeping and eating so little, and thinking so much
and being so continually out of humour. But to return :

I was exerting myself to sing and play for the amuse-
ment, and at the request, of my aunt and Milicent,
before the gentlemen came into the drawing-room (Miss
Wilmot never likes to waste her musical efforts on
ladies ears alone) : Milicent had asked for a little
ocotch song, and I was just in the middle of it when
hey entered. The first thing Mr Huntingdon did, was
to walk up to Annabella.

to niS’>MiS-^ilm0t’ rn>t y°U &'ve U8 some music
to-night? said he. “Do now! I know you will,

^fda/for the s ^ I?“Te bee" hunSe™g and thirsting
vacant/’ y°Ur V°‘Ce- C°me ! the Piano’a

It was ; for I had quitted it immediately upon hearing
his petition Had I been endowed with a propef
degree of self-possession, I should have turned to the
lady myself, and cheerfully joined my entreaties to his;

176 the tenant of wildfell hall.

Hufrf ,S™,TS !ive”: *»

.1 . , wiong, if it had only arisen from

u ?£ Z:S\lbUt 1 fe,t *7°° deeP]y to do anything
77 from the music-stool, and throw myself back
on the sofa suppressing with difficulty the audible ex-
piession of the bitterness I felt within. I knew Anna-
bella musical talents were superior to mine but that
was no reason why I should be treated ?a
nonentity. The time and the manner of his asking her ’
appeared like a gratuitous insult to me; and I could
have wept with pure vexation.

Meanume, she exultingly seated herself at the piano
and feared him with two of his favourite songs, in
such superior style that even I soon lost my anew n
admiration and listened with a sort of gloomy pleasure 1
to the skillful modulations of her full-toned anYpowerl
ful voice, so judiciously aided by her rounded anj
spirited touch ; and while my ears drank in the sound!
my eyes rested on the face of her principal auditor ara

Nation of"hiqUa V SUperi°r de,ight from the contem-
plation of his speaking countenance, as he stood beside

stsm 1 „adXtand brow ,Jighted up with

smm, and tnat sweet smile passing and appearing like

uS uf sunshme 011 an Apnl day. No wonder he
should hunger and thirst to hear her sing. I now for-

gave hma, from my heart, his reckless slight of me, and
elt ashamed at my pettish resentment of such a trifle
—ashamed too of those bitter envious pangs that gnawed

Sg“ hea“’ ln Sphe °f 811 thls admiratifn Li

“ There now ! ” said she, playfiilly running her
fingers over the keys, when she had concluded the
second song. “ What shall I give you next ? ”

h.„Ut,m sa,y'ng this> she ,ooked back at Lord Low-
boiough, who was standing a little behind, leanin

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

177

against the back of a chair, an attentive listener too,
expei lencing, to judge by his countenance, much the
same feelings of mingled pleasure and sadness as I did.
fiut the look she gave him plainly said, “ Do you choose
for me now : I have done enough for him, and will
gladly exert myself to gratify you ; ” and thus en-
couraged, his lordship came forward, and turning over
the music, presently set before her a little song that I
ad noticed before, and read more than once, with an
interest arising from the circumstance of my connecting
it in my mind with the reigning tyrant of my thoughts.
And now with my nerves already excited and half
unstrung, I could not hear those words so sweetly
warbled forth, without some symptoms of emotion I
was not able to suppress. Tears rose unbidden to my
eyes and I buried my face in the sofa-pillow that they
might flow unseen while I listened. The air was

simple, sweet, and sad, it is still running in my head,

and so are the words —

“ Farewell to thee ! but not farewell
To all my fondest thoughts of thee :

Within my heart they still shall dwell -
And they shall cheer and comfort me.

Oh, beautiful, and full of grace !

If thou hadst never met mine eye,

I had not dreamed a living face
Could fancied charms so far outvie.

If I may ne’er behold again
That form and face so dear to me,

Nor hear thy voice, still would I fain
Preserve, for aye, their memory.

That voice the magic of whose tone
Can wake an echo in my breast,

Creating feelings that, alone,

Can make my tranced spirit blest,

M

I.

178

THE TENANT OF W1LDFELL HALL.

That laughing eye, whose sunny beam
My memory would not cherish less : —
And oh, that smile! whose joyous gleam
No mortal language can express.

Adieu ! but let me cherish, still,

The hope with which I cannot part.
Contempt may wound, and coldness chill,
But still it lingers in my heart.

And who can tell but Heaven, at last,

May answer all my thousand prayers,
And bid the future pay the past

With joy for anguish, smiles for tears ! ”

t

When it ceased, I longed for nothing so much as to
be out of the room. The sofa was not far from the
door, but I did not dare to raise my head, for I knew
Mr Huntingdon was standing near me, and I knew by
the sound of his voice, as he spoke in answer to some
remark of Lord Lowborough’s, that his face was
turned towards me. Perhaps a half-suppressed sob had
caught his ear, and caused him to look round — Heaven
forbid ! But, with a violent effort, I checked all
further signs of weakness, dried my tears, and, when I
thought he had turned away again, rose, and instantly
left the apartment, taking refuge in my favourite resort,
the library.

There was no light there but the faint red glow ol
the neglected fire ; — but I did not want a light ; I only
wanted to indulge my thoughts, unnoticed and undis-
turbed ; and sitting down on a low stool before the
easy-chair, I sunk my head upon its cushioned seat)
and thought, and thought, until the tears gushed
again, and I wept like any child. Presently, howe
the door was gently opened and some one entered
room. I trusted it was only a servant, and did
stir. The door was closed again — but I was n<

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

r79

alone ; a hand gently touched my shoulder, and a voice
said softly —

“ Helen, what is the matter ? ”

I could not answer at the moment.

“ You must, and shall tell me,” was added, more
vehemently, and the speaker threw himself on his
knees beside me on the rug, and forcibly possessed
himself of my hand ; but I hastily caught it away, and
replied — J

“ is nothing to you, Mr Huntingdon.”

“Are you sure it is nothing to me?” he returned;
“can you swear that you were not thinking of me
while you wept ? ”

This was unendurable. I made an effort to rise,
out he was kneeling on my dress.

“ Tell me,” continued he — “ I want to know,

>ecause, if you were, I have something to say to you —
md if not, I’ll go.” ^ 9

“ Go then ! ” I cried ; but, fearing he would obey

00 well, and never come again, I hastily added— “ Or
lay what you have to say, and have done with it ■ ”

“ Bu1tI which ? ” said he— « for I shall only say it if
ou really were thinking of me. So tell me, Helen.”

“ You’re excessively impertinent, Mr Huntingdon ! ”

1 “ Not at all — too pertinent, you mean — so you won’t

r1 me • — WeH, I’ll spare your woman’s pride, and
onstrumg your silence into ‘Yes,’ I’ll take it for
ranted that I was the subject of your thoughts, and the
ause of your affliction ”

“ Indeed, sir "■

“ If you deny it, I won’t tell you my secret,”
reatened he; and I did not interrupt him again ■

even attempt to repulse him, though he had taken
y hand once more, and half embraced me with his
her arm — I was scarcely conscious of it at the
me.

i8o

THE TENANT OF WILD FELL HALL.

“ It is this/’ resumed he ; “ that Annabella Wil-
mot, in comparison with you, is like a flaunting peony
compared with a sweet, wild rosebud gemmed with
dew — and I love you to distraction ! — Now, tell me
if that intelligence gives you any pleasure. Silence
again ? That means yes — Then let me add, that I
cannot live without you, and if you answer, No, to this
last question, you will drive me mad. — Will you bestow
yourself upon me? — you will ! ” he cried, nearly
squeezing me to death in his arms.

“ No, no ! ” I exclaimed, struggling to free myself
from him — “ you must ask my uncle and aunt.”

“ They won’t refuse me, if you don’t.”

" I’m not so sure of that — my aunt dislikes you.”

“ But you don’t, Helen — say you love me, and I’ll
go.”

“ I wish you would go ! ” 1 replied.

“ I will, this instant, — if you’ll only say you love
me.”

“You know I do,” I answered. And again he
caught me in his arms, and smothered me with kisses.

At that moment, my aunt opened wide the door, and
stood before us, candle in hand, in shocked and horrified
amazement, gazing alternately at Mr Huntingdon and
me, — for we had both started up, and now stood wide
enough asunder. But his confusion was only for a
moment. Rallying in an instant, with the most enviable
assurance, he began —

“ I beg ten thousand pardons, Mrs Maxwell ! Don’t
be too severe upon me. I’ve been asking your sweet
niece to take me for better, for worse ; and she, like a
good girl, informs me she cannot think of it without her
uncle’s and aunt’s consent. So let me implore you not
to condemn me to eternal wretchedness : if you favour i
my cause, I am safe ; for Mr Maxwell, I am certai^1
can refuse you nothing.”

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL. l8l

“ We will talk of this to-morrow, sir,” said my aunt
coldly. “It is a subject that demands mature and
serious deliberation. At present, you had better return
to the drawing-room.”

“ But meantime,” pleaded he, « let me commend my
cause to your most indulgent”- 3

“ No indulgence for you, Mr Huntingdon, must
come between me and the consideration of my niece’s
happiness.”

6 Ah, true ! I know she is an angel, and I am a
presumptuous dog to dream of possessing such a treasure ;
but, nevertheless, I would sooner die than relinquish her
m favour of the best man that ever went to heaven—
and as for her happiness, I would sacrifice my body and
soul J

Body and soul, Mr Huntingdon — sacrifice your
soul r J

“Well, I would lay down life”

“You would not be required to lay it down.”

“ I would spend it, then— devote my life— and all
its powers, to the promotion and preservation ”

“ Another time, sir, we will talk of this— and I
should have felt disposed to judge more favourably of
your pretensions, if you too had chosen another time
and place, and let me add — another manner for your
declaration.” J

“Why, you see, Mrs Maxwell,”— he began.

“ Pardon me, sir,” said she, with dignity “the

company are inquiring for you in the other room.”
And she turned to me.

“ Then 70u must P^ad for me, Helen,” said he, and
at length withdrew.

“ You had better retire to your room, Helen,” said
.my aunt gravely. “ I will discuss this matter with you
itoo, to-morrow.” J J

“ Don’t be angry, aunt,” said I,

182

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

u My dear, I am not angry,” she replied : “I am
surprised. If it is true that you told him you could not

accept his offer without our consent ”

“ It is true,” interrupted I.

u Then how could you permit ”

“ I couldn’t help it, aunt,” I cried, bursting into
tears. They were not altogether the tears of sorrow,
or of fear for her displeasure, but rather the outbreak of
the general tumultuous excitement of my feelings. But
my good aunt was touched at my agitation. In a softer
tone, she repeated her recommendation to retire, and,
gently kissing my forehead, bade me good-night, and
put her candle in my hand ; and I went ; but my brain
worked so, I could not think of sleeping. I feel calmer
now that I have written all this ; and I will go to bed,
and try to win tired nature’s sweet restorer.

September

IN the morning I rose, light and cheerful, nay, in-
tensely happy. The hovering cloud cast over me
by my aunt’s views, and by the fear of not

hopes, and the too delightful consciousness of requited
love. It was a splendid morning ; and I went out to
enjoy it, in a quiet ramble in company with my own
blissful thoughts. The dew was on the grass, and ten
thousand gossamers were waving in the breeze ; the
happy red-breast was pouring out its little soul in song,
and my heart overflowed with silent hymns of gratitude
and praise to Heaven.

But I had not wandered far before my solitude wa
interrupted by the only person that could have disturbed^

•o

her consent, was lost in the bright effulgence of

THE TENANT OF WILD FELL HALL. 1 83

my musings, at that moment, without being looked upon
as an unwelcome intruder: Mr Huntingdon came

suddenly upon me. So unexpected was the apparition,
that I might have thought it the creation of an over-
excited imagination, had the sense of sight alone borne
witness to his presence ; but immediately I felt his
strong arm round my waist and his warm kiss on my
cheek, while his keen and gleeful salutation, “ My own
Helen ! ” was ringing in my ear.

“ Not yours yet,” said I, hastily swerving aside from
this too presumptuous greeting — “ remember my guard-
ians. You will not easily obtain my aunt’s consent.
Don’t you see she is prejudiced against you ? ”

“ I do, dearest ; and you must tell me why, that I
may best know how to combat her objections. I
suppose she thinks I am a prodigal,” pursued he,
observing that I was unwilling to reply, “ and concludes
that I shall have but little worldly goods wherewith to
endow my better half? If so, you must tell her that
my property is mostly entailed, and I cannot get rid of
it. There may be a few mortgages on the rest — a few
trifling debts and incumbrances here and there, but
nothing to speak of ; and though I acknowledge I am
not so rich as I might be — or have been — still, I think,
we could manage pretty comfortably on what’s left.
My father, you know, was something of a miser, and,
in his latter days especially, saw no pleasure in life but
to amass riches ; and so it is no wonder that his son
should make it his chief delight to spend them, which
was accordingly the case, until my acquaintance with
you, dear Helen, taught me other views and nobler
aims. And the very idea of having you to care for
under my roof, would force me to moderate my expenses
and live like a Christian— not to speak of all the prud-
ence and virtue you would instil into my mind by your
wise counsels and sweet, attractive goodness.”

184 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

“ But it is not that,” said I, 44 it is not money my
aunt thinks about. She knows better than to value
worldly wealth above its price.”

44 What is it then ? ”

“ She wishes me to — to marry none but a really good
man.”

“ What, a man of 4 decided piety ahem ! — Well,
come, I’ll manage that too ! It’s Sunday to-day, isn’t
it ? I’ll go to church morning, afternoon, and evening,
and comport myself in such a godly sort that she shall
regard me with admiration and sisterly love, as a brand
plucked from the burning. I’ll come home sighing like a
furnace, and full of the savour and unction of dear Mr

Blatant’s discourse ”

44 Mr Leighton,” said I dryly.

“ Is Mr Leighton a 4 sweet preacher,’ Helen — a
c dear, delightful, heavenly-minded man ’ ? ”

“ He is a good man, Mr Huntingdon. I wish I
could say half as much for you.”

“ Oh, I forgot, you are a saint, too. I crave your
pardon, dearest — but don’t call me Mr Huntingdon,
my name is Arthur.”

44 I’ll call you nothing — for I’ll have nothing at all
to do with you if you talk in that way any more. If
you really mean to deceive my aunt as you say, you are
very wicked ; and if not, you are very wrong to jest on
such a subject.”

44 1 stand corrected,” said he, concluding his laugh
with a sorrowful sigh. 44 Now,” resumed he, after a !|
momentary pause, “let us talk about something else.
And come nearer to me, Helen, and take my arm; and
then I’ll let you alone. I can’t be quiet while I see !
you walking there.” e

I complied ; but said we must soon return to tl
house. \°l

44 No one will be down to breakfast yet, for lond7'

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL. 185

enough,” he answered. “ You spoke of your guardians,
just now, Helen, but is not your father still living ? ”

“ Yes, but I always look upon my uncle and aunt as
my guardians, for they are so, in deed, though not in
name. My father has entirely given me up to their
care. I have never seen him since dear mamma died
when I was a very little girl, and my aunt, at her
request, offered to take charge of me, and took me
away to Staningley, where I have remained ever since ;
and I don’t think he would object to anything for me’
that she thought proper to sanction.”

“ ®ut would he sanction anything to which she
thought proper to object ? ”

“No, I don’t think he cares enough about
me.

“ He is very much to blame— but he doesn’t know
what an angel he has for his daughter— which is all the
better for me, as, if he did, he would not be willing to
part with such a treasure.”

“ And Mr Huntingdon,” said I, “ I suppose you
know I am not an heiress ? ”

, He. Protested he had never given it a thought, and
begged I would not disturb his present enjoyment by
the mention of such uninteresting subjects. I was glad
of tins proof of disinterested affection ; for Annabella
Wilmot is the probable heiress to all her uncle’s wealth,
in addition to her late father’s property, which she has
already in possession.

I now insisted upon retracing our steps to the house :
but we walked slowly, and went on talking as we pro-
ceeded. I need not repeat all we said : let me rather
refer to what passed between my aunt and me, after
breakfast, when Mr Huntingdon called my uncle aside
amo doubt to make his proposals, and she beckoned me
emto another room, where she once more commenced a
■ solemn remonstrance, which, however, entirely failed to

1 86 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

convince me that her view of the case was preferable to
my own.

“ You judge him uncharitably, aunt, I know/' said
I. “ His very friends are not half so bad as you repre-
sent them. There is Walter Hargrave, Milicent’s
brother, for one; he is but a little lower than the
angels, if half she says of him is true. She is con-
tinually talking to me about him, and lauding his many
virtues to the skies.”

“ You will form a very inadequate estimate of a man’s
character,” replied she, “ if you judge by what a fond
sister says of him. The worst of them generally know
how to hide their misdeeds from their sisters’ eyes, and
their mothers’ too.”

u And there is Lord Lowborough,” continued I,
“ quite a decent man.”

“Who told you so? Lord Lowborough is a
desperate man. He has dissipated his fortune in
gambling and other things, and is now seeking an
heiress to retrieve it. I told Miss Wilmot so ; but
you’re all alike : she haughtily answered she was very
much obliged to me, but she believed she knew when
a man was seeking her for her fortune, and when for
herself; she flattered herself she had had experience
enough in those matters, to be justified in trusting to her
own judgment — and as for his lordship’s lack of fortune,
she cared nothing about that, as she hoped her own
would suffice for both ; and as for his wildness, she
supposed he was no worse than others — besides, he was
reformed now. Yes, they can all play the hypocrite
when they want to take in a fond, misguided woman ! ”

“ Well, I think he’s about as good as she is,” said I.
“ But when Mr Huntingdon is married, he won’t have
many opportunities of consorting with his bachelorv
friends ; — and the worse they are, the more I long to
deliver him from them.”

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL. 187

“ To be sure> my dear ; and the worse he is, I sup-
pose, the more you long to deliver him from himself/ ’

“ Yes, provided he is not incorrigible — that is, the
more I long to deliver him from his faults— to give him
an opportunity of shaking off the adventitious evil got
from contact with others worse than himself, and shining
out in the unclouded light of his own genuine goodness
to do my utmost to help his better self against his
worse, and make him what he would have been if he
had not, from the beginning, had a bad, selfish, miserly
father, who, to gratify his own sordid passions, restricted
him in the most innocent enjoyments of childhood and
youth, and so disgusted him with every kind of restraint;
—and a foolish mother who indulged him to the top of
his bent, deceiving her husband for him, and doing her
utmost to encourage those germs of folly and vice it
was her duty to suppress,— and then, such a set of

companions as you represent his friends to be ”

“ Poor man ! ” said she sarcastically, “ his kind have
greatly wronged him ! ”

“ They have,” cried I — “ and they shall wrong him
no more — his wife shall undo what his mother did ! ”

“ Well,” said she, after a short pause, “ I must say,
Helen, I thought better of your judgment than this —
and your taste too. How you can love such a man I
cannot tell, or what pleasure you can find in his com-
pany ; for ‘ What fellowship hath light with darkness ;
or he that believeth with an infidel ? ’ ”

“ He is not an infidel ; — and I am not light, and he
is not darkness ; his worst and only vice is thoughtless-
ness.”

“ And thoughtlessness,” pursued my aunt, “ may
lead to every crime, and will but poorly excuse our
errors, in the sight of God. Mr Huntingdon, I sup-
pose, is not without the common faculties of men : he
is not so light-headed as to be irresponsible : his Maker

1 88 THE TENANT OF WILD FELL HALL.

has endowed him with reason and conscience as well as
the rest of us ; the Scriptures are open to him as well
as to others ; — and 4 If he hear not them, neither will
he hear though one rose from the dead.’ And, re-
member, Helen,” continued she solemnly, “ ‘ The
wicked shall be turned into hell, and they that forget
God ! ’ And suppose, even, that he should continue
to love you, and you him, and that you should pass
through life together with tolerable comfort, — how will
it be in the end, when you see yourselves parted for
ever ; you, perhaps, taken into eternal bliss, and he cast
into the lake that burneth with unquenchable fire — there
for ever to ”

“ Not for ever,” I exclaimed, “ ‘ only till he has paid
the uttermost farthing ; ’ for ‘ if any man’s work abide
not the fire, he shall suffer loss, yet himself shall be
saved, but so as by fire ; ’ and He that ‘ is able to subdue
all things to Himself will have all men to be saved,’ and
‘ will in the fulness of time, gather together in one all
things in Christ Jesus, who tasted death for every man,
and in whom God will reconcile all things to Himself,
whether they be things in earth or things in heaven.’ ”

“ Oh, Helen ! where did you learn all this ? ”

“ In the Bible, aunt. I have searched it through,
and found nearly thirty passages, all tending to support
the same theory.”

“ And is that the use you make of your Bible ?
And did you find no passages tending to prove the
danger and falsity of such a belief ? ”

“ No : I found, indeed, some passages that, taken by
themselves, might seem to contradict that opinion ; but
they will all bear a different construction to that which
is commonly given, and in most the only difficulty is in
the word which we translate ‘ everlasting ’ or < eternal.’
I don’t know the Greek, but I believe it strictly means
for ages, and might signify either endless or long-

l

(

the tenant of WILDFELL HALL. 189

enduring. And as for the danger of the belief, I
would not publish it abroad, if I thought any poor
wietch would be likely to presume upon it to his own
destruction, but it is a glorious thought to cherish in
one s own heart, and I would not part with it for all
the world can give ! ”

Here our conference ended, for it was now high
time to prepare for church. Every one attended the
morning service except my uncle, who hardly ever
goes, and Mr Wilmot, who stayed at home with him
^.enJ°y,a qu>et game of cribbage. In the afternoon
Miss Wilmot and Lord Lowborough likewise excused
themselves from attending; but Mr Huntingdon vouch-
safed to accompany us again. Whether it was to
ingratiate himself with my aunt I cannot tell, but, if so
he certainly should have behaved better. I must con-
fes, I did not like his conduct during service at all.
Molding his Prayer-book upside down, or open at any-
place but the right, he did nothing but stare about him,
unless he happened to catch my aunt’s eye or mine
and then he would drop his own on his book, with a
puritanical air of mock solemnity that would have been
ludicious, if it had not been too provoking. Once,
during the sermon, after attentively regarding Mr
Leighton for a few minutes, he suddenly produced his
gold pencil-case and snatched up a Bible. Perceiving
that I observed the movement, he whispered that he
was going to make a note of the sermon ; but instead of
that as I sat next him I could not help seeing that he
was making a caricature of the preacher, giving to the
respectable, pious, elderly gentleman, the air and aspect
of a most absurd old hypocrite. And yet, upon his re-
turn, he talked to my aunt about the sermon with a
degree of modest, serious discrimination that tempted
me to believe he had really attended and profited by the
discourse. 1

190 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

Just before dinner my uncle called me into the
library for the discussion of a very important matter,
which was dismissed in few words.

“ Now, Nell/’ said he, “ this young Huntingdon has
been asking for you : what must I say about it ? Your
aunt would answer ‘ No ’ — but what say you ? ”

“ I say yes, uncle,” replied I, without a moment’s
hesitation ; for I had thoroughly made up my mind on
the subject.

“Very good! ” cried he. “Now that’s a good
honest answer — wonderful for a girl! — Well, I’ll
write to your father to-morrow. He’s sure to give his
consent ; so you may look on the matter as settled.
You’d have done a deal better if you’d taken Wilmot,
I can tell you ; but that you won’t believe. At your
time of life, it’s love that rules the roast : at mine, it’s
solid, serviceable gold. I suppose now, you’d never
dream of looking into the state of your husband’s
finances, or troubling your head about settlements, or
anything of that sort ? ”

“ I don’t think I should.”

“ Well, be thankful, then, that you’ve wiser heads to
think for you. I haven’t had time, yet, to examine
thoroughly into this young rascal’s affairs, but I see
that a great part of his father’s fine property has been
squandered away ; — but still, I think there’s a pretty fair
share of it left, and a little careful nursing may make a
handsome thing of it yet ; and then we must persuade
your father to give you a decent fortune, as he has only
one besides yourself to care for ; — and, if you behave
well, who knows but what I may be induced to remem-
ber you in my will ? ” contined he, putting his fingers
to his nose, with a knowing wink.

“ Thanks, uncle, for that and all your kindness,”
replied I.

“Well, and I questioned this young spark on the

the tenant of wildfell hall. I91

matter of settlements,” continued he ; « and he seemed
disposed to be generous enough on that point ”

tm„hl ^ ue 70u,d!” said I- “But pray don’t
troubie your head-or his, or mine about that ; for all

I have wdl be h.s, and all he has will be mine - and
what more could either of us require ? ” And 1 was
about to make my exit, but he called me back.

Stop, stop! ’’ cried he — “ We haven’t mentioned
‘ ‘ ,.Wfen Your aunt would

» * Z2 - ~ -^5 S"i.e wiI * * * S *

“d ,0"’ 1 be

“ Not at all, uncle ; on the contrary, I should like
to wait till after Christmas, at least.”

better^” 'cSfhT011 j T” "* 'hat a,c~1 k""

happiness enough, to know that we are to be 'united
and that he really loves me, and I may love him ^
devotedly, and think of him as often7 as I pW
However, I insisted upon consulting my ann/aboM
the time of the wedding, for I determined7 her counsels
should not be utterly disregarded; and no conZicm
on that particular are come to yet. delusions

I

O„okr »K.(2|.\

ALL is settled now. My father has given his

consent, and the time is fixed for Christmas, by

a sort ot compromise between the resnerti'vl

dvocates for hurry and delay. Milicent Hargrave is

192 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

to be one bridesmaid, and Annabella Wilmot the other
— not that I am particularly fond of the latter, but
she is an intimate of the family, and I have not another
friend.

When I told Milicent of my engagement, she rather
provoked me by her manner of taking it. After staring
a moment in mute surprise, she said —

“ Well, Helen, I suppose I ought to congratulate
you — and I am glad to see you so happy ; but I did
not think you would take him ; and I can’t help feeling
surprised that you should like him so much.”

“ Why so ? ”

“ Because you are so superior to him in every way,
and there’s something so bold — and reckless about him
— so, I don’t know how — but I always feel a wish to
get out of his way, when I see him approach.”

“You are timid, Milicent, but that’s no fault of
his.”

“ And then his look,” continued she. “ People
say he’s handsome, and of course he is, but I don’t
like that kind of beauty ; and I wonder that you
should.”

“ Why so ? ”

“Well, you know, I think there’s nothing noble or
lofty in his appearance.”

“ In fact you wonder that I can like any one so
unlike the stilted heroes of romance ! Well ! give me
my flesh and blood lover, and I’ll leave all the Sir
Herberts and Valentines to you — if you can find
them.”

“ I don’t want them,” said she. “ I’ll be satisfied I
with flesh and blood too — only the spirit must shine
through and predominate. But don’t you think Mr
Huntingdon’s face is too red ? ”

« No ! ” cried I indignantly. “ It is not red at all.
There is just a pleasant glow- — a healthy freshness in

the tenant of w,ldfell hall. I93
;his complexion, the warm, pinky tint of u .

p?yZ'7”£ °f ,he

Tvhite, Jike a painted doil or aU be red and

^iack, or cadaverous yellow ! ” SIC Y Whlte’ °r Smok^

JiedThe!’ te“tButdtoeitdlbUt 1 pale °r dark>” -

itelinT, aynd ^

fluttered 1

y6 two Frsons I liked best in the wor d-

XTouldcairhandsom; be ex?c% whT

Obody else should so disparacj Arth,^ ?°V but
w, with impunity.” S Aithui Huntingdon to

in^ras^;.expressed her feeJings °° the subJect»

:«myedo“n?' 1^1^^ “P ‘° me with

Huntingdon, I suppose ? P°rt’ y0u are t0 be Mrs

“ OhS,7eplied h “ Don,t y°u envy me ? »

1 Lady LwboroughsomeCdaimedVi “ 1 Sha,J Probably

ar,lLllIebfcrPSvta ^ £?“ know’

^yine?’’* ^ ^ inquire, ‘Don’t you

;“SS“a!L'“ r «»„«<. t.

,nd .oSin” L“? J*'

amtment shadowed her Ice 7 « A a J d f d,s'

N

194

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

him ? ” she added, fixing her eyes upon me with ill
disguised anxiety for the reply.

“ I don’t want to be idolised,” I answered, « but
am well assured that he loves me more than anybod
else in the world — as I do him.”

“Exactly,” said she, with a nod. “I wish”

she paused.

“What do you wish?” asked I, annoyed at th
vindictive expression of her countenance. ■

“ I wish,” returned she, with a short laugh, “ that a
the attractive points and desirable qualifications of tl
two gentlemen were united in one — that Lord Lou
borough had Huntingdon’s handsome face and goc
temper, and all his wit, and mirth and charm, or el
that Huntingdon had Lowborough’s pedigree, and titl
and delightful old family seat, and I had him ; and yc
might have the other and welcome.”

« Thank you, dear Annabella, I am better satisfid
with things as they are, for my own part ; and for yoi
I wish you were as well content with your intended
I am with mine,” said I ; and it was true enough ; fc
though vexed at first at her unamiable spirit, her franl
ness touched me, and the contrast between our situatioi
was such, that I could well afford to pity her and wii
her well.

Mr Huntingdon’s acquaintances appear to be no bett
pleased with our approaching union than mine. Tj
morning’s post brought him letters from several of 1
friends, during the perusal of which, at the breakfa*
table, he excited the attention of the company, by ti
singular variety of his grimaces. But he crushed the,
all into his pocket, with a private laugh, and said nothir
till the meal was concluded. Then, while the coil
pany were hanging over the fire or loitering through t
room, previous to settling to their various mornim
avocations, he came and leant over the back of my cha

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

*95

with his face in contact with my curls, and commencing
with a quiet little kiss, poured forth the following
complaints into my ear — °

“ Helen, you witch, do you know that you’ve entailed
' uPon me the curses of all my friends ? I wrote to them
the other day, to tell them of my happy prospects, and
now, instead of a bundle of congratulations, I’ve got a
pocketful of bitter execrations and reproaches. There’s
1 not one kind wish for me, or one good word for you
among them all. They say there’ll be no more fun
now, no more merry days and glorious nights— and all
my fault— I am the first to break up the jovial band,
and otheis, in pure despair, will follow my example. I
was the very life and prop of the community, they do

1 me the honour to say, and I have shamefully betrayed
> my trust” 1

“You may join them again, if you like,” said I,
somewhat piqued at the sorrowful tone of his discourse.

< “ I should be sorry to stand between any man— or body
i of men, and so much happiness; and perhaps I can
c manage to do without you, as well as your poor deserted
I' friends. r

“ Bless you ; no,” murmured he. “ It’s ‘ all for
dove or the world well lost,’ with me. Let them go
to— where they belong, to speak politely. But if
lyou saw how they abuse me, Helen, you would
love me all the more, for having ventured so much
ror your sake.

He pulled out his crumpled letters. I thought he
was going to show them to me, and told him I did not
wish to see them.

,.J ™ n°t g^gtoshow them to you, love,” said he.
•‘They re hardly fit for a lady’s eyes— the most part of
:hem. But look here. This is Grimsby’s scrawl-
only three lines, the sulky dog ! He doesn’t say much,
o be sure, but his very silence implies more than all the

196 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

others’ words, and the less he says, the more he thinks
— and this is Hargrave’s missive. He is particularly
grieved at me, because, forsooth, he had fallen in love
with you from his sister’s reports, and meant to have
married you himself, as soon as he had sown his wild oats.”
“ I’m vastly obliged to him,” observed I.

“And so am I,” said he. “And look at this.
This is Hattersley’s — every page stuffed full of railing
accusations, bitter curses, and lamentable complaints,
ending up with swearing that he’ll get married himself
in revenge ; he’ll throw himself away on the first old
maid that chooses to set her cap at him, — as if I cared
what he did with himself.”

“Well,” said I, “if you do give up your intimacy
with these men, I don’t think you will have much
cause to regret the loss of their society 5 for it’s my
belief they never did you much good.”

“ Maybe not ; but we’d a merry time of it, too,
though mingled with sorrow and pain, as Lowborough
knows to his cost — Ha ! ha ! ” and while he was
laughing at the recollection of Lowborough’s troubles,
my uncle came and slapped him on the shoulder.

“ Come, my lad ! ” said he. “ Are you too busy
making love to my niece, to make war with the
pheasants? — First of October remember! — Sun shines
out — rain ceased — even Boarham’s not afraid to venture
in his waterproof boots ; and Wilmot and I are going
to beat you all. I declare, we old ’uns are the keenest
sportsmen of the lot ! ”

“ I’ll show you what I can do to-day, however,”
said my companion. “ I’ll murder your birds by whole-
sale, just for keeping me away from better company than
either you or them.”

And so saying he departed ; and I saw no more of
him till dinner. It seemed a weary time ; I wonder
what I shall do without him.

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL. 197

It is very true that the three elder gentlemen have
proved themselves much keener sportsmen than the two
younger ones ; for both Lord Lowborough and Arthur
Huntingdon have of late almost daily neglected the
shooting excursions, to accompany us in our various
rides and rambles. But these merry times are fast
" drawing to a close. In less than a fortnight the party
break up, much to my sorrow, for every day I enjoy it
more and more— now that Messrs Boarham and Wilmot
have ceased to tease me, and my aunt has ceased to
lecture me, and I have ceased to be jealous of Annabella
—and even to dislike her— and now that Mr Hunting-
don is become my Arthur, and I may enjoy his society
without restraint — What shall I do without him, I
[repeat ?

Chapter mjt 22.'

October $tb.

MY cup of sweets is not unmingled: it is dashed
with a bitterness that I cannot hide from my-
self, disguise it as I will. I may try to
persuade myself that the sweetness overpowers it ; I
inay call it a pleasant aromatic flavour $ but say what I
vill, it is still there, and I cannot but taste it. I can-
not shut my eyes to Arthur’s faults ; and the more I
ove him the more they trouble me. His very heart,
hat I trusted so, is, I fear, less warm and generous than
thought it. At least, he gave me a specimen of his
character to-day, that seemed to merit a harder name
han thoughtlessness. He and Lord Lowborough were
accompanying Annabella and me in a long, delightful
fide ; he was riding by my side, as usual, and Annabella
nd Lord Lowborough were a little before us, the

1 98 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL,

latter bending towards his companion as if in tender
and confidential discourse.

“ Those two will get the start of us, Helen, if we
don’t look sharp,” observed Huntingdon. “They’ll
make a match of it, as sure as can be. That Low-
borough’s fairly besotted. But he’ll find himself in a
fix when he’s got her, I doubt.”

“And she’ll find herself in a fix when she’s got
him,” said I, “ if what I have heard of him is true.”

“Not a bit of it. She knows what she’s about;
but he, poor fool, deludes himself with the notion that
she’ll make him a good wife, and because she has
amused him with some rodomontade about despising
rank and wealth in matters of love and marriage, he
flatters himself that she’s devotedly attached to him ;
that she will not refuse him for his poverty, and does
not court him for his rank, but loves him for himself
alone.”

“ But is not he courting her for her fortune ? ”

“No, not he. That was the first attraction, cer-
tainly ; but now he has quite lost sight of it : it never
enters his calculations, except merely as an essential
without which, for the lady’s own sake, he could
not think of marrying her. No ; he’s fairly in love.
He thought he never could be again, but he’s in for it
once more. He was to have been married before,
some two or three years ago ; but he lost his bride by
losing his fortune. He got into a bad way among us in
London : he had an unfortunate taste for gambling ;
and surely the fellow was born under an unlucky star,
for he always lost thrice where he gained once. That’s
a mode of self-torment I never was much addicted to.
When I spend my money I like to enjoy the full value
of it : I see no fun in wasting it on thieves and black-
legs ; and as for gaining money, hitherto I have always
had sufficient ; it’s time enough to be clutching lor

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

T99

more, I think, when you begin to see the end of
what you have. But I have sometimes frequented
the gaming-houses just to watch the on-goings of those
mad votaries of chance — a very interesting study, I
assure you, Helen, and sometimes very diverting :
I ve had many a laugh at the boobies and bedlamites.
Lowborough was quite infatuated — not willingly, but
of necessity, — he was always resolving to give it up,
and always breaking his resolutions. Every venture
, was the ‘just once more : ’ if he gained a little, he
hoped to gain a little more next time, and if he
i lost, it would not do to leave off at that juncture ;

: he must go on till he had retrieved that last misfortune,
at least : bad luck could not last for ever ; and every
I lucky hit was looked upon as the dawn of better
c times, till experience proved the contrary. At length
he grew desperate, and we were daily on the look-
out for a case of felo-de-se — no great matter, some of us
whispered, as his existence had ceased to be an acqui-
■ sition to our club. At last, however, he came to a
check. He made a large stake which he determined
should be the last, whether he lost or won. He had
1 often so determined before, to be sure, and as often
. broken his determination ; and so it was this time.

1 He lost ; and while his antagonist smilingly swept
away the stakes, he turned chalky white, drew back
< in silence, and wiped his forehead. I was present at
the time ; and while he stood with folded arms and
eyes fixed on the ground, I knew well enough what was
passing in his mind.

66 ‘ Is it to be the last, Lowborough ? * said I, stepping
up to him.

3 " 6 The last but one,’ he answered, with a grim smile ;

- and then, rushing back to the table, he struck his hand
upon it, and, raising his voice high above all the con-
> fusion of jingling coins and muttered oaths and curses in

200

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

the room, he swore a deep and solemn oath, that, come
what would, this trial should be the last, and imprecated
unspeakable curses on his head, if ever he should shuffle
a card, or rattle a dice-box again. He then doubled
his former stake, and challenged any one present to play
against him. Grimbsy instantly presented himself.
Lowborough glared fiercely at him, for Grimsby was
almost as celebrated for his luck as he was for his ill-
fortune. However, they fell to work. But Grimsby
had much skill and little scruple, and whether he took
advantage of the other’s trembling, blinded eagerness to
deal unfairly by him, I cannot undertake to say ; but
Lowborough lost again, and fell dead sick.

44 4 You’d better try once more,’ said Grimsby, leaning
across the table. And then he winked at me.

44 4 I’ve nothing to try with,’ said the poor devil, with
a ghastly smile.

44 4 Oh, Huntingdon will lend you what you want,’
said the other.

44 4 No ; you heard my oath,’ answered Lowborough,
turning away in quiet despair. And I took him by the
arm, and led him out.

44 4 Is it to be the last, Lowborough ? ’ I asked, when
I got him into the street.

44 4 The last,’ he answered, somewhat against my
expectation. And I took him home — that is, to our
club — for he was as submissive as a child, and plied him
with brandy-and-water till he began to look rather
brighter — rather more alive, at least.

44 4 Huntingdon, I’m ruined ! ’ said he, taking the
third glass from my hand — he had drunk the others in
dead silence.

44 4 Not you! ’ said I. ‘You’ll find a man can live
without his money as merrily as a tortoise without its
head, or a wasp without its body.’

44 4 But I’m in debt,’ said he — 4 deep in debt ! And
I can never, never get out of it ! ’

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

201

“‘ Well, what of that? many a better man than you
has lived and died in debt, and they can’t put you in
prison, you know, because you’re a peer.’ And I
handed him his fourth tumbler.

“ ‘ But I hate to be in debt ! ’ he shouted. < I wasn’t
born for it, and I cannot bear it ! ’

“‘What can’t be cured must be endured,’ said I,
beginning to mix the fifth.

“‘And then, I’ve lost my Caroline.’ And he
began to snivel then, for the brandy had softened his
heart.

“ ‘ No matter,’ I answered, ‘ there are more Carolines
in the world than one.’

“ ‘ There s only one for me,’ he replied, with a
dolorous sigh. ‘ And if there were fifty more, who’s
to get them, I wonder, without money ? ’

“ ‘ Oh, somebody will take you for your title ; and
then you’ve your family estate yet ; that’s entailed, you
know.’

“ ‘ I wish to God I could sell it to pay my debts,’
he muttered.

“ ‘ And then,’ said Grimsby, who had just come in,
‘you can try again, you know. I would have
more than one chance, if I were you. I’d never
stop here.’

“ ‘ I won’t, I tell you ! ’ shouted he. And he started
up, and left the room — walking rather unsteadily, for
the liquor had got into his head. He was not so much
used to it then, but after that, he took to it kindly to
solace his cares.

“ He kept his oath about gambling (not a little to the
surpiise of us all), though Grimsby did his utmost to
tempt him to break it ; but now he had got hold of
another habit that bothered him nearly as much, for he
soon discovered that the demon of drink was as black
as the demon of play, and nearly as hard to get rid of

202

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

— especially as his kind friends did all they could to
second the promptings of his own insatiable cravings.”

“ Then, they were demons themselves,” cried I,
unable to contain my indignation. “And you, Mr
Huntingdon, it seems, were the first to tempt him. ”

« Well, what could we do ? ” replied he deprecat-
in gly. — “ We meant it in kindness — we couldn’t bear to
see the poor fellow so miserable : — and besides, he was
such a damper upon us, sitting there, silent and glum,
when he was under the threefold influence of the loss
of his sweetheart, the loss of his fortune, and the
reaction of the last night’s debauch ; whereas, when he
had something in him, if he was not merry himself, he
was an unfailing source of merriment to us. Even
Grimsby could chuckle over his odd sayings : they
delighted him far more than my merry jests, or
Hattersley’s riotous mirth. But, one evening, when we
were sitting over our wine, after one of our club
dinners, and all had been hearty together, — Low-
borough giving us mad toasts, and hearing our wild
songs, and bearing a hand in the applause, if he did
not help us to sing them himself, — he suddenly
relapsed into silence, sinking his head on his hand, and
never lifting his glass to his lips ; — but this was nothing
new ; so we let him alone, and went on with our jolli-
fication, till, suddenly raising his head, he interrupted us
in the middle of a roar of laughter, by exclaiming —

“ * Gentlemen, where is all this to end ? — Will
you just tell me that now l — Where is it all to end ? ’
He rose.

“ 1 A speech, a speech ! ’ shouted we. ‘ Hear, hear !
Lowborough’s going to give us a speech ! ’

“He waited calmly till the thunders of ap-
plause and jingling of glasses had ceased, and then
proceeded —

“ ‘ It’s only this, gentlemen, — that I think we’d

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

203

better go no further. We’d better stop while we
can.’

“‘Just so,’ cried Hattersley —

“ Stop, poor sinner, stop and think
Before you further go,

No longer sport upon the brink
Of everlasting woe.”

Exactly ! * replied his lordship, with the utmost
gravity. * And if you choose to visit the bottomless
pit, I won t go with you — we must part company, for I
swear I’ll not move another step towards it ! — What’s
this ? ’ he said, taking up his glass of wine.

u c Taste it,’ suggested I.

u * This is hell broth ! ’ he exclaimed. i I renounce it
for ever ! 9 And he threw it out into the middle of the
table.

“ ‘ Fill again ! ’ said I, handing him the bottle—
and let us drink to your renunciation.’

“ 6 It’s rank poison,’ said he, grasping the bottle by
the neck, ‘ and I forswear it ! I’ve given up gambling,
and I’ll give up this too.’ He was on the point of
deliberately pouring the whole contents of the bottle on
to the table, but Hargrave wrested it from him. ‘ On
you be the curse then ! ’ said he. And, backing from
the room, he shouted, c Farewell, ye tempters ! ’ and
vanished amid shouts of laughter and applause.

“We expected him back among us the next day ;
but, to our surprise, the place remained vacant ; we saw
nothing of him for a whole week ; and we really began
to think he was going to keep his word. At last, one
evening, when we were most of us assembled together
again, he entered, silent and grim as a ghost, and would
have quietly slipped into his usual seat at my elbow, but
we all rose to welcome him, and several voices were
raised to ask what he would have, and several hands

204

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

were busy with bottle and glass to serve him ; but I
knew a smoking tumbler of brandy-and-water would
comfort him best, and had nearly prepared it, when he
peevishly pushed it away, saying —

“ ‘ Do let me alone, Huntingdon ! Do be quiet, all
of you ! Pm not come to join you : I’m only come
to be with you awhile, because I can’t bear my own
thoughts.’ And he folded his arms, and leant back in
his chair ; so we let him be. But I left the glass by
him ; and, after a while, Grimsby directed my attention
towards it, by a significant wink ; and, on turning my
head, I saw it was drained to the bottom. He made
me a sign to replenish, and quietly pushed up the bottle.
I willingly complied: but Lowborough detected the
pantomime, and, nettled at the intelligent grins that
were passing between us, snatched the glass from my
hand, dashed the contents of it in Grimsby’s face, threw
the empty tumbler at me, and then bolted from the
room.”

“ I hope he broke your head,” said 1.

“ No, love,” replied he, laughing immoderately at
the recollection of the whole affair, “he would have
done so, — and, perhaps, spoilt my face, too, but, provi-
dentially, this forest of curls ” (taking off his hat, and
showing his luxuriant chestnut locks) “saved my skull,
and prevented the glass from breaking, till it reached
the table.”

“After that,” he continued, “Lowborough kept
aloof from us a week or two longer. I used to meet
him occasionally in the town ; and then, as I was too
good-natured to resent his unmannerly conduct, and he
bore no malice against me, — he was never unwilling to
talk to me ; on the contrary, he would cling to me, and
follow me anywhere, — but to the club, and the gaming-
houses, and such like dangerous places of resort — he
was so weary of his own moping, melancholy mind.

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

205

At last, I got him to come in with me to the club, on
condition that I would not tempt him to drink ; and,
for some time, he continued to look in upon us pretty
regularly of an evening,— still abstaining, with wonder-
ful perseverance, from the ‘rank poison’ he had so
bravely forsworn. But some of our members protested
against this conduct. They did not like to have him
sitting there like a skeleton at a feast, instead of contri-
buting his quota to the general amusement, casting a
cloud over all, and watching, with greedy eyes, every
diop they carried to their lips — they vowed it was not
fair; and some of them maintained, that he should
either be compelled to do as others did, or expelled
from the society ; and swore that, next time he showed
himself, they would tell him as much, and, if he did not
take the warning, proceed to active measures. How-
ever, I befriended him on this occasion, and recom-
mended them to let him be for a while, intimating that,
with a little patience on our parts, he would soon come
round again. But, to be sure, it was rather provoking ;
for, though he refused to drink like an honest Christian,
it was well known to me that he kept a private bottle of
laudanum about him, which he was continually soaking
at — or rather, holding off and on with, abstaining one
day, and exceeding the next — just like the spirits.

“ One night, however, during one of our orgies

one of our high festivals, I mean — he glided in, like the
ghost in Macbeth, and seated himself, as usual, a little
back from the table, in the chair we always placed for
‘ the spectre,’ whether it chose to fill it or not. I saw
by his face that he was suffering from the effects of an
overdose of his insidious comforter ; but nobody spoke
to him, and he spoke to nobody. A few sidelong
glances, and a whispered observation, that ‘ the ghost
was come,’ was all the notice he drew by his appear-
ance, and we went on with our merry carousals as

206 the tenant of wildfell hall.

before, till he startled us all, by suddenly drawing in his
chair, and leaning forward with his elbows on the table,
and exclaiming with portentous solemnity —

“ ‘ W ell ! it puzzles me what you can find to be so
merry about. What you see in life I don’t know — I
see only the blackness of darkness, and a fearful looking
for of judgment and fiery indignation ! ’

“ All the company simultaneously pushed up their
glasses to him, and I set them before him in a semi-
circle, and, tenderly patting him on the back, bid him
drink, and he would soon see as bright a prospect as
any of us ; but he pushed them back, muttering —

“ ‘Take them away ! I won’t taste it, I tell you. I
won’t — I won’t ! ’ So I handed them down again to
the owners ; but I saw that he followed them with a
glare of hungry regret as they departed. Then, he
clasped his hands before his eyes to shut out the sight,
and two minutes after, lifted his head again, and said,
in a hoarse but vehement whisper —

“ ‘ And yet I must ! Huntingdon, get me a
glass ! 9

“‘Take the bottle, man!’ said I, thrusting the
brandy-bottle into his hand — but stop, I’m telling too
much,” muttered the narrator, startled at the look I
turned upon him. “ But no matter,” he recklessly
added, and thus continued his relation. “ In his
desperate eagerness, he seized the bottle and sucked
away, till he suddenly dropped from his chair, disap-
pearing under the table amid a tempest of applause.
The consequence of this imprudence was something like
an apoplectic fit, followed by a rather severe brain
fever ”

“ And what did you think of yourself, sir ? ” said I
quickly.

“ Of course I was very penitent,” he replied. “ I
went to see him once or twice — nay, twice or thrice —

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

or by’r lady, some four times — and when he got better,
I tenderly brought him back to the fold.,,

“ What do you mean ? ”

“ I mean, I restored him to the bosom of the club,
and compassionating the feebleness of his health and
extreme lowness of his spirits, I recommended him to
‘ take a little wine for his stomach’s sake,’ and, when he
was sufficiently re-established, to embrace the media-
via, ni-jamais-ni-toujours plan — not to kill himself like
a fool, and not to abstain like a ninny — in a word, to
enjoy himself like a rational creature, and do as I did ;
for don’t think, Helen, that I’m a tippler ; I’m nothing
at all of the kind, and never was, and never shall be.
1 value my comfort far too much. I see that a man
cannot give himself up to drinking without being miser-
able one half his days and mad the other ; besides, I
like to enjoy my life at all sides and ends, which can-
not be done by one that suffers himself to be the slave
of a single propensity — and, moreover, drinking spoils
one’s good looks,” he concluded, with a most conceited
smile that ought to have provoked me more than it
did.

“ And did Lord Lowborough profit by your advice?”
I asked.

“ Why, yes, in a manner. For a while, he managed
very well : indeed he was a model of moderation and
prudence — something too much so for the tastes of our
wild community ; but, somehow, Lowborough had not
the gift of moderation : if he stumbled a little to one
side, he must go down before he could right himself :
if he overshot the mark one night, the effects of it
rendered him so miserable the next day that he must
repeat the offence to mend it ; and so on from day to
day, till his clamorous conscience brought him to a
stand. And then, in his sober moments, he so bothered
his friends with his remorse and his terrors and woes,

208 the tenant of wildfell hall.

that they were obliged, in self-defence, to get him to
drown his sorrows in wine, or any more potent beverage
that came to hand ; and when his first scruples of con-
science were overcome, he would need no more per-
suading, he would often grow desperate, and be as great
a blackguard as any of them could desire — but only to
lament his own unutterable wickedness and degradation
the more when the fit was over.

“At last, one day, when he and I were alone
together, after pondering awhile in one of his gloomy,
abstracted moods, with his arms folded and his head
sunk on his breast, he suddenly woke up, and vehe-
mently grasping my arm, said —

“ ‘ Huntingdon, this won’t do ! I’m resolved to
have done with it.’

“ ‘ What, are you going to shoot yourself? ’ said I.

“ ‘ No ; I’m going to reform.’

“ ‘ Oh, that’s nothing new ! You’ve been going to
reform these twelve months and more.’

“ 4 Yes, but you wouldn’t let me ; and I was such a
fool I couldn’t live without you. But now I see what
it is that keeps me back, and what’s wanted to save me ;
and I’d compass sea and land to get it — only I’m afraid
there’s no chance.’ And he sighed as if his heart
would break.

“ ‘What is it, Lowborough ? ’ said I, thinking he was
fairly cracked at last.

“ ‘ A wife,’ he answered ; ‘ for I can’t live alone,
because my own mind distracts me, and I can’t live
with you, because you take the devil’s part against
me.’

“ ‘ Who — I ?’

“ ‘ Yes — all of you do — and you more than any of
them, you know. But if I could get a wife, with for-
tune enough to pay off my debts and set me straight in
the world ’

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

209

“ c To be sure/ said I.

“ ‘And sweetness and goodness enough/ he continued,
‘ to make home tolerable, and to reconcile me to myself,
I think I should do, yet. I shall never be in love
again, that’s certain ; but perhaps that would be no
great matter, it would enable me to choose with my
eyes open — and I should make a good husband in spite
of it ; but could any one be in love with me ? — that’s
the . question. With your good looks and powers of
fascination’ (he was pleased to say), ‘I might hope ;
but as it is, Huntingdon, do you think anybody would
take me — ruined and wretched as I am ? ’

“ ‘ Yes, certainly.’

“ « Who ? ’

“‘Why, any neglected old maid, fast sinking in

despair, would be delighted to ’

“ ‘ No, no/ said he — ‘ it must be somebody that I
can love.’

“ ‘ Why, you just said you never could be in love
again ! ’

“ ‘ Well, love is not the word — but somebody that
I can like. I’ll search all England through, at all
events ! ’ he cried, with a sudden burst of hope, or
desperation. ‘Succeed or fail, it will be better than

rushing headlong to destruction at that d d club :

so farewell to it and you. Whenever I meet you on
honest ground or under a Christian roof, I shall be glad
to see you ; but never more shall you entice me to that
devil’s den ! ’

“ This was shameful language, but I shook hands
with him, and we parted. He kept his word; and
from that time forward, he has been a pattern of pro-
priety, as far as I can tell ; but, till lately, I have not
had very much to do with him. He occasionally
sought my company, but as frequently shrunk from it,
fearing lest I should wile him back to destruction, and
t 0

210

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

I found his not very entertaining, especially, as he some-
times attempted to awaken my conscience and draw
me from the perdition he considered himself to have
escaped ; but when I did happen to meet him, I sel-
dom failed to ask after the progress of his matrimonial
efforts and researches, and, in general, he could give me
but a poor account. The mothers were repelled by his
empty coffers and his reputation for gambling, and the
daughters by his cloudy brow and melancholy temper —
besides, he didn’t understand them ; he wanted the
spirit and assurance to carry his point.

“ I left him at it when I went to the Continent ;
and on my return, at the year’s end, I found him still
a disconsolate bachelor — though, certainly, looking
somewhat less like an unblest exile from the tomb than
before. The young ladies had ceased to be afraid of
him, and were beginning to think him quite interesting ;
but the mammas were still unrelenting. It was about
this time, Helen, that my good angel brought me into
conjunction with you ; and then I had eyes and ears
for nobody else. But, meantime, Lowborough became
acquainted with our charming friend Miss Wilmot —
through the intervention of his good angel, no doubt he
would tell you, though he did not dare to fix his hopes
on one so courted and admired, till after they were
brought into closer contact here at Staningley, and she,
in the absence of her other admirers, indubitably courted
his notice and held out every encouragement to his
timid advances. Then, indeed, he began to hope for a
dawn of brighter days ; and if, for a while, I darkened
his prospects by standing between him and his sun —
and so, nearly plunged him again into the abyss of
despair — it only intensified his ardour and strengthened
his hopes when I chose to abandon the field in the
pursuit of a brighter treasure. In a word, as I told
you, he is fairly besotted. At first, he could dimly

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

2 1 1

perceive her faults, and they gave him considerable
uneasiness ; but now his passion and her art together
have blinded him to everything but her perfections and
his amazing good fortune. Last night, he came to me
brimful of his new-found felicity —

44 4 Huntingdon, I am not a cast-away ! ’ said he,
seizing my hand and squeezing it like a vice. 4 There
is happiness in store for me, yet — even in this life — she
loves me ! 9

“ 4 Indeed ! 9 said I. 4 Has she told you so ? 9

44 4 No, but I can no longer doubt it. Do you not
see how pointedly kind and affectionate she is ? And
she knows the utmost extent of my poverty, and cares
nothing about it ! She knows all the folly and all the
wickedness of my former life, and is not afraid to trust
me — and my rank and title are no allurements to her ;
for them she utterly disregards. She is the most
generous, high-minded being that can be conceived of.
She will save me, body and soul, from destruction.
Already, she has ennobled me in my own estimation,
and made me thfee times better, wiser, greater than I
was. Oh ! if I had but known her before, how much
degradation and misery I should have been spared !
But what have I done to deserve so magnificent a
creature ? 9

44 And the cream of the jest,” continued Mr Hunt-
ingdon, laughing, 44 is, that the artful minx loves nothing
about him but his title and pedigree, and 4 that delight-
ful old family seat.’ ”

44 How do you know ? ” said I.

44 She told me so herself ; she said, 4 As for the
man himself, I thoroughly despise him ; but then, I
suppose, it is time to be making my choice, and if I
waited for some one capable of eliciting my esteem
and affection, I should have to pass my life in single
blessedness, for I detest you all ! ’ Ha, ha ! I suspect

212 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

she was wrong there ; but, however, it is evident she
has no love for him, poor fellow.”

“ Then you ought to tell him so.”

66 What ! and spoil all her plans and prospecs, poor
girl ? No, no : that would be a breach of confidence,
wouldn’t it, Helen ? Ha, ha ! Besides, it would
break his heart.” And he laughed again.

“Well, Mr Huntingdon, I don’t know what you
see so amazingly diverting in the matter ; I see nothing
to laugh at.”

“ I’m laughing at you, just now, love,” said he,
redoubling his cachinnations.

And leaving him to enjoy his merriment alone, I
touched Ruby with the whip and cantered on to rejoin
our companions ; for we had been walking our horses
all this time, and were consequently a long way behind.
Arthur was soon at my side again ; but not disposed to
talk to him, I broke into a gallop. He did the same ;
and we did not slacken our pace till we came up with
Miss Wilmot and Lord Lowborough, which was
within half a mile of the park gates. I avoided all
further conversation with him, till we came to the end
of our ride, when I meant to jump off my horse and
vanish into the house, before he could offer his assist-
ance ; but while I was disengaging my habit from the
crutch, he lifted me off, and held me by both hands,
asserting that he would not let me go till I had forgiven
him.

“ I have nothing to forgive,” said I. “ You have
not injured me.”

“ No, darling — God forbid that I should ! but you
are angry, because it was to me that Annabella con-
fessed her lack of esteem for her lover.”

“ No, Arthur, it is not that that displeases me : it is
the whole system of your conduct towards your friend ;
and if you wish me to forget it, go, now, and tell him

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

213

what sort of a woman it is that he adores so madly,
and on whom he has hung his hopes of future
happiness.”

“ I tell you, Helen, it would break his heart — it
would be the death of him — besides being a scandalous
trick to poor Annabella. There is no help for him
now ; he is past praying for. Besides, she may keep
up the deception to the end of the chapter ; and then
he will be just as happy in the illusion as if it were
reality ; or perhaps, he will only discover his mistake
when he has ceased to love her ; and if not, it is much
better that the truth should dawn gradually upon him.
So now, my angel, I hope I have made out a clear
case, and fully convinced you that I cannot make the
atonement you require. What other requisition have
you to make ? Speak, and I will gladly obey.”

“ I have none but this,” said I, as gravely as before ;
“that, in future, you will never make a jest of the
sufferings of others, and always use your influence with
your friends for their own advantage against their evil
propensities, instead of seconding their evil propensities
against themselves.”

“ I will do my utmost,” said he, “ to remember and
perform the injunctions of my angel monitress ; ” and
after kissing both my gloved hands, he let me go.

When I entered my room, I was surprised to see
Annabella Wilmot standing before my toilet table,
composedly surveying her features in the glass, with
one hand flirting her gold-mounted whip, and the other
holding up her long habit.

“ She certainly is a magnificent creature ! ” thought
I, as I beheld that tall, finely-developed figure, and the
reflection of the handsome face in the mirror before me,
with the glossy dark hair, slightly and not ungracefully
disordered by the breezy ride, the rich brown com-
plexion glowing with exercise, and the black eyes

214

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

sparkling with unwonted brilliance. On perceiving
me, she turned round, exclaiming, with a laugh that
savoured more of malice than of mirth —

“ Why, Helen ! what have you been doing so long ?
I came to tell you my good fortune,” she continued,
regardless of Rachel’s presence. “ Lord Lowborough
has proposed, and I have been graciously pleased to
accept him. Don’t you envy me, dear ? ”

“ No, love,” said I — “ or him either,” I mentally
added. “ And do you like him, Annabella ? ”

“ Like him ! yes, to be sure — over head and ears in
love ! ”

“Well, I hope you’ll make him a good wife.”
“Thank you, my dear ! And what besides do you
hope?”

“ I hope you will both love each other, and both be
happy.”

“ Thanks ; and I hope you will make a very good
wife to Mr Huntingdon ! ” said she, with a queenly
bow, and retired.

“ Oh, miss ! how could you say so to her ! ” cried
Rachel.

“ Say what ? ” replied I.

“Why, that you hoped she would make him a good
wife. I never heard such a thing ! ”

“ Because, I do hope it — or rather, I wish it — she’s
almost past hope.”

“Well!” said she, “I’m sure I hope he’ll make
her a good husband. They tell queer things about him

downstairs. They were saying ”

“ I know, Rachel. I’ve heard all about him ; but
he’s reformed now. And they have no business to tell
tales about their masters.”

“ No, mum — or else, they have said some things
about Mr Huntingdon, too.”

“ I won’t hear them, Rachel ; they tell lies.”

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

215

“Yes, mum,” said she quietly, as she went on
arranging my hair.

“ Do you believe them, Rachel ? ” I asked, after a
short pause.

“No, miss, not all. You know when a lot of
servants gets together they like to talk about their
betters ; and some, for a bit of swagger, likes to make
it appear as though they knew more than they do, and
to throw out hints and things just to astonish the others.
But I think if I was you, Miss Helen, Pd look very
well before I leaped. I do believe a young lady can’t
be too careful who she marries.”

“ Of course not,” said I ; “ but be quick, will you,
Rachel ; I want to be dressed.”

And, indeed, I was anxious to be rid of the good
woman, for I was in such a melancholy frame I could
hardly keep the tears out of my eyes while she dressed
me. It was not for Lord Lowborough — it was not
for Annabella — it was not for myself — it was for Arthur
Huntingdon that they rose.

1 3/^.— They are gone — and he is gone. We are to
be parted for more than two months — above ten weeks !
a long, long time to live and not to see him. But he
has promised to write often, and made me promise to
write still oftener, because he will be busy settling his
affairs, and I shall have nothing better to do. Well, I
think I shall always have plenty to say. But oh ! for
the time when we shall be always together, and can
exchange our thoughts without the intervention of these
cold go-betweens, pen, ink, and paper !

22nd, — I have had several letters from Arthur,
already. They are not long, but passing sweet, and just
like himself — full of ardent affection, and playful lively
humour ; but— there is always a “ but ” in this imperfect

21 6

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

world and I do wish he would sometimes be serious.
I cannot get him to write or speak in real, solid earnest.
I don t much mind it now, but if it be always so, what
shall I do with the serious part of myself?

(Zb) c*

Feb . I St 1822.

apter tpiij.

this morning, Arthur mounted his hunter

and set off in high glee to meet the hounds.

He will be away all day, and so I will amuse
myself with my neglected diary, if I can give that
name to such an irregular composition. It is exactly
four months since I opened it last.

I am married now, and settled down as Mrs Hunting-
don of Grassdale Manor. I have had eight weeks’
experience of matrimony. And do I regret the step I
have taken ? No, though I must confess, in my secret
heart, that Arthur is not what I thought him at first,
and if I had known him in the beginning as thoroughly
as I do now, I probably never should have loved him,
and if I loved him first, and then made the discovery’
I fear I should have thought it my duty not to have
married him. To be sure I might have known him,
for every one was willing enough to tell me about him,
and he himself was no accomplished hypocrite, but I
was wilfully blind, and now, instead of regretting that I
did not discern his full character before I was indis-
solubly bound to him, I am glad, for it has saved me a
great deal of battling with my conscience, and a great
deal of consequent trouble and pain ; and, whatever I
ought to have done, my duty now is plainly to love
him and to cleave to him, and this just tallies with my
inclination. 3

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL. 21 7

He is very fond of me — almost too fond. I could
do with less caressing and more rationality. I should
like to be less of a pet and more of a friend if I might
choose, but I won’t complain of that ! I am only afraid
his affection loses in depth where it gains in ardour. I
sometimes liken it to a fire of dry twigs and branches
compared with one of solid coal — very bright and hot ;
but if it should burn itself out and leave nothing but
ashes behind, what shall I do ? But it won’t — it shan’t,
I am determined — and surely I have power to keep it
alive. So let me dismiss that thought at once. But
Arthur is selfish ; I am constrained to acknowledge
that ; and, indeed, the admission gives me less pain than
might be expected, for, since I love him so much, I can
easily forgive him for loving himself : he likes to be
pleased, and it is my delight to please him, and when I
regret this tendency of his it is for his own sake, not for
mine.

The first instance he gave was on the occasion of our
bridal tour. He wanted to hurry it over, for all the
Continental scenes were already familiar to him : many
had lost their interest in his eyes, and others had never
had anything to lose. The consequence was, that after
a flying transit, through part of France and part of Italy,
I came back nearly as ignorant as I went, having made
no acquaintance with persons and manners, and very
little with things, my head swarming with a motley con-
fusion of objects and scenes — some, it is true, leaving a
deeper and more pleasing impression than others, but
these embittered by the recollection that my emotions
had not been shared by my companion, but that, on the
contrary, when I had expressed a particular interest in
anything that I saw or desired to see, it had been dis-
pleasing to him, inasmuch as it proved that I could take
delight in anything disconnected with himself.

As for Paris, we only just touched at that, and he

218 the tenant of wildfell hall.

would not give me time to see one-tenth of the beauties
and interesting objects of Rome. He wanted to get me
home, he said, to have me all to himself, and to see me
safely installed as the mistress of Grassdale Manor, just
as single-minded, as naive, and piquant as I was ; and,
as if I had been some frail butterfly, he expressed himself
fearful of rubbing the silver off my wings by bringing
me into contact with society, especially that of Paris and
Rome ; and, moreover, he did not scruple to tell me
that there were ladies in both places that would tear his
eyes out if they happened to meet him with me.

Of course I was vexed at all this ; but, still, it was
less the disappointment to myself that annoyed me, than
the disappointment in him, and the trouble I was at
to frame excuses to my friends for having seen and
observed so little, without imputing one particle of blame
to my companion. But when we got home — to my
new, delightful home — I was so happy and he was so
kind that I freely forgave him all ; and I was beginning
to think my lot too happy, and my husband actually too
good for me, if not too good for this world, when, on
the second Sunday after our arrival, he shocked and
horrified me by another instance of his unreasonable exac-
tion. We were walking home from the morning service,
for it was a fine frosty day, and, as we are so near the
church, I had requested the carriage should not be used.

“ Helen,” said he, with unusual gravity, “ I am not
quite satisfied with you.”

I desired to know what was wrong.

“ But will you promise to reform if I tell you ? ”

“Yes, if I can, and without offending a higher
authority.”

“ Ah ! there it is, you see, you don't love me with
all your heart.”

“ I don't understand you, Arthur (at least I hope I
don’t) : pray tell me what I have done or said amiss ? ”

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

219

“ It is nothing you have done or said ; it is some-
thing that you are — you are too religious. Now I like
a woman to be religious, and I think your piety one of
your greatest charms, but then, like all other good things,
it may be carried too far. To my thinking, a woman's
religion ought not to lessen her devotion to her earthly
lord. She should have enough to purify and etherealise
her soul, but not enough to refine away her heart, and
raise her above all human sympathies."

“ And am I above all human sympathies ? ’’ said I.

“No, darling; but you are making more progress
towards that saintly condition than I like ; for all these
two hours I have been thinking of you and wanting to
catch your eye, and you were so absorbed in your
devotions that you had not even a glance to spare for me
— I declare it is enough to make one jealous of one’s
Maker — which is very wrong, you know ; so don’t
excite such wicked passions again for my soul’s sake.’’

“ I will give my whole heart and soul to my Maker
if I can,’’ I answered, “ and not one atom more of it
to you than He allows. What are you, sir, that you
should set yourself up as a god, and presume to dispute
possession of my heart with Him to whom I owe all I
have and all I am, every blessing I ever did or ever
can enjoy — and yourself among the rest — if you are a
blessing, which I am half inclined to doubt.

“ Don’t be so hard upon me, Helen ; and don’t
pinch my arm so, you’re squeezing your fingers into the
bone.’’

“ Arthur,’’ continued I, relaxing my hold of his arm,
“ you don’t love me half as much as I do you ; and
yet, if you loved me far less than you do I would not
complain, provided you loved your Maker more. I
should rejoice to see you at any time so deeply absorbed
in your devotions that you had not a single thought to
spare for me. But, indeed, I should lose nothing by

220

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

the change, for the more you loved your God the more
deep and pure and true would be your love to me.”

At this he only laughed and kissed my hand, calling
me a sweet enthusiast. Then taking off his hat, he
added —

“ But look here, Helen — what can a man do with
such a head as this ? ”

The head looked right enough, but when he placed
my hand on the top of it, it sunk in a bed of curls,
rather alarmingly low, especially in the middle.

" You see I was not made to be a saint,” said he,
laughing. “If God meant me to be religious, why
didn’t He give me a proper organ of veneration ? ”
“You are like the servant,” I replied, “who, instead
of employing his one talent in his master’s service,
restored it to him unimproved, alleging, as an excuse,
that he knew him c to be a hard man, reaping where he
had not sown, and gathering where he had not strawed.’
Of him to whom less is given, less will be required,
but our utmost exertions are required of us all. You
are not without the capacity of veneration, and faith
and hope, and conscience and reason, and every other
requisite to a Christian’s character if you choose to em-
ploy them ; but all our talents increase in the using,
and every faculty, both good and bad, strengthens by
exercise : therefore, if you choose to use the bad, or
those which tend to evil, till they become your masters,
and neglect the good till they dwindle away, you have
only yourself to blame. But you have talents, Arthur,
natural endowments both of heart and mind and temper,
such as many a better Christian would be glad to pos-
sess, if you would only employ them in God’s service.
I should never expect to see you a devotee, but it is
quite possible to be a good Christian without ceasing to
be a happy, merry-hearted man.”

“You speak like an oracle, Helen, and all you say is

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

221

indisputably true; but listen here: I am hungry, and
I see before me a good substantial dinner ; I am told
that if I abstain from this to-day I shall have a sump-
tuous feast to-morrow, consisting of all manner of dainties
and delicacies. Now in the first place, I should be
loath to wait till to-morrow when I have the means of
appeasing my hunger already before me : in the second
place, the solid viands of to-day are more to my taste
than the dainties that are promised me ; in the third
place, I don’t see to-morrow’s banquet, and how can
I tell that it is not all a fable, got up by the greasy-
faced fellow that is advising me to abstain in order
that he may have all the good victuals to himself? in
the fourth place, this table must be spread for some-
body, and, as Solomon says, ‘Who can eat, or who
else can hasten hereunto more than I ? ’ and finally,
with your leave, I’ll sit down and satisfy my cravings
of to-day, and leave to-morrow to shift for itself — who
knows but what I may secure both this and that ? ”

“ But you are not required to abstain from the sub-
stantial dinner of to-day: you are only advised to
partake of these coarser viands in such moderation as
i not to incapacitate you from enjoying the choicer
! banquet of to-morrow. If, regardless of that counsel,
you choose to make a beast of yourself now, and over-
eat and over-drink yourself till you turn the good
victuals into poison, who is to blame if, hereafter, while
you are suffering the torments of yesterday’s gluttony
and drunkenness, you see more temperate men sitting
down to enjoy themselves at that splendid entertainment
which you are unable to taste ? ”

“ Most true, my patron saint ; but again, our friend
Solomon says, ‘ There is nothing better for a man than
to eat and to drink and to be merry.’ ”

“ And again,” returned I, “ he says, c Rejoice, O
young man, in thy youth ; and walk in the ways of

222

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

thine heart, and in the sight of thine eyes : but know
thou, that for all these things, God will bring thee into
judgment/ ”

“Well but, Helen, Pm sure Pve been very good
these last few weeks. What have you seen amiss in
me, and what would you have me to do ? ”

“ Nothing more than you do, Arthur : your actions
are all right so far ; but I would have your thoughts
changed : I would have you to fortify yourself against
temptation, and not to call evil good, and good evil ; I
should wish you to think more deeply, to look further,
and aim higher than you do/’

o

/2L^®^at)tCr **!&♦

March 25 th.

ARTHUR is getting tired — not of me, I trust, but
of the idle, quiet life he leads — and no wonder,
for he has so few sources of amusement: he
never reads anything but newspapers and sporting maga-
zines ; and when he sees me occupied with a book he won’t
let me rest till I close it. In fine weather he generally
manages to get through the time pretty well, but on rainy
days, of which we have had a good many of late, it is
quite painful to witness his ennui. I do all I can to
amuse him, but it is impossible to get him to feel inter-
ested in what I most like to talk about, while, on the other
hand, he likes to talk about things that cannot interest me
—or even that annoy me — and these please him the most
of all ; for his favourite amusement is to sit or loll beside
me on the sofa, and tell me stories of his former amours,
always turning upon the ruin of some confiding girl or
the cozening of some unsuspecting husband ; and when
I express my horror and indignation he lays it all to

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

223

the charge of jealousy, and laughs till the tears run
down his cheeks. I used to fly into passions or melt
into tears at first, but seeing that his delight increased
in proportion to my anger and agitation, I have since
endeavoured to suppress my feelings and receive his
revelations in the silence of calm contempt ; but still he
reads the inward struggle in my face, and misconstrues
my bitterness of soul for his unworthiness into the pangs
of wounded jealousy ; and when he has sufficiently
diverted himself with that, or fears my displeasure will
become too serious for his comfort, he tries to kiss and
soothe me into smiles again — never were his caresses so
little welcome as then ! This is double selfishness dis-
played to me and to the victims of his former love.
There are times when, with a momentary pang — a flash
of wild dismay, I ask myself, “ Helen, what have you
done ? ” But I rebuke the inward questioner, and re-
pel the obtrusive thoughts that crowd upon me ; for
i were he ten times as sensual and impenetrable to good
I and lofty thoughts, I well know I have no right to
complain. And I don’t and won’t complain. I do
and will love him still ; and I do not and will not re-
gret that I have linked my fate with his.

April \th. — We have had a downright quarrel.
The particulars are as follows : — Arthur had told me,
at different intervals, the v/hole story of his intrigue

with Lady F , which I would not believe before.

It was some consolation, however, to find that in this
instance the lady had been more to blame than he, for
he was very young at the time, and she had decidedly
made the first advances, if what he said was true. I
hated her for it, for it seemed as if she had chiefly con-
tributed to his corruption, and when he was beginning
to talk about her the other day, I begged he would not
mention her, for I detested the very sound of her
name.

I

224

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

“ Not because you loved her, Arthur, mind, but be-
cause she injured you and deceived her husband, and
was altogether a very abominable woman, whom you
ought to be ashamed to mention.”

But he defended her by saying that she had a doting
old husband, whom it was impossible to love.

“ Then why did she marry him ? ” said I.

‘‘For his money,” was the reply.

“Then that was another crime, and her solemn
promise to love and honour him was another, that only
increased the enormity of the last.”

“ You are too severe upon the poor lady,” laughed
he. “ But never mind, Helen, I don’t care for her
now ; and I never loved any of them half as much as
I do you, so you needn’t fear to be forsaken like
them.”

“ If you had told me these things before, Arthur, I
never should have given you the chance.”

“ Wouldn’t you, my darling ? ”

“ Most certainly not ! ”

He laughed incredulously.

“ I wish I could convince you of it now ! ” cried I,
starting up from beside him ; and for the first time in
my life, and I hope the last, I wished I had not
married him.

“Helen,” said he, more gravely, “do you know
that if I believed you now I should be very angry ? but
thank Heaven I don’t. Though you stand there with
your white face and flashing eyes, looking at me like a
very tigress, I know the heart within you perhaps a
trifle better than you know it yourself.”

Without another word I left the room and locked
myself up in my own chamber. In about half-an-hour
he came to the door, and first he tried the handle, then
he knocked.

“ Won’t you let me in, Helen ? ” said he.

THE TENANT OF WILD FELL HALL.

225

“ No ; you have displeased me/’ I replied, “ and I
don’t want to see your face or hear your voice again
,j till the morning.”

He paused a moment as if dumfoundered or un-
certain how to answer such a speech, and then turned
and walked away. This was only an hour after dinner :
I knew he would find it very dull to sit alone all the
evening ; and this considerably softened my resentment
though it did not make me relent. I was determined
to show him that my heart was not his slave, and I
could live without him if I chose ; and I sat down and
wrote a long letter to my aunt — of course telling her
nothing of all this. Soon after ten o’clock I heard
him come up again, but he passed my door and went
straight to his own dressing-room, where he shut him-
self in for the night.

I was rather anxious to see how he would meet me
in the morning, and not a little disappointed to behold
him enter the breakfast-room with a careless smile.

“ Are you cross still, Helen ? ” said he, approaching
as if to salute me. I coldly turned to the table, and
began to pour out the coffee, observing that he was
, rather late.

!j He uttered a low whistle and sauntered away to the
window, where he stood for some minutes looking out
upon the pleasing prospect of sullen, grey clouds, stream-
, ing rain, soaking lawn, and dripping, leafless trees, and
muttering execrations on the weather, and then sat down
to breakfast. While taking his coffee he muttered it
was “ d cold.”

“ You should not have left it so long,” said I.

He made no answer, and the meal was concluded in
T silence. It was a relief to both when the letter-bag
was brought in. It contained upon examination a
newspaper and one or two letters for him, and a couple
of letters for me, which he tossed across the table

I. P

226 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

without a remark. One was from my brother, the
other from Milicent Hargrave, who is now in London
with her mother. His, I think, were business letters,
and apparently not much to his mind, for he crushed
them into his pocket with some muttered expletives
that I should have reproved him for at any other time.
The paper, he set before him, and pretended to be
deeply absorbed in its contents during the remainder of
breakfast, and a considerable time after.

The reading and answering of my letters, and the
direction of household concerns, afforded me ample
employment for the morning : after lunch I got my
drawing, and from dinner till bed-time I read. Mean-
while, poor Arthur was sadly at a loss for something to
amuse him or to occupy his time. He wanted to appear
as busy and as unconcerned as 1 did : had the weather at
all permitted he would doubtless have ordered his horse
and set off to some distant region — no matter where —
immediately after breakfast, and not returned till night :
had there been a lady anywhere within reach, of any
age between fifteen and forty-five, he would have sought
revenge and found employment in getting up, or trying
to get up, a desperate flirtation with her ; but being, to
my private satisfaction, entirely cut off from both these
sources of diversion, his sufferings were truly deplorable.
When he had done yawning over his paper and scribbling
short answers to his shorter letters, he spent the remainder
of the morning and the whole of the afternoon in fidget-
ing about from room to room, watching the clouds,
cursing the rain, alternately petting and teasing and
abusing his dogs, sometimes lounging on the sofa with a
book that he could not force himself to read, and very
often fixedly gazing at me when he thought I did not
perceive it, with the vain hope of detecting some traces
of tears, or some tokens of remorseful anguish in my
face. But I managed to preserve an undisturbed though

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

227

3 grave serenity throughout the day. I was not really
angry : I felt for him all the time, and longed to be
reconciled ; but I determined he should make the first
advances, or at least show some signs of an humble and
contrite spirit first ; for, if I began, it would only
minister to his self-conceit, increase his arrogance, and
quite destroy the lesson I wanted to give him.

He made a long stay in the dining-room after dinner,
and, I fear, took an unusual quantity of wine, but not
enough to loosen his tongue, for when he came in and
i found me quietly occupied with my book, too busy to
\ lift my head on his entrance, he merely murmured an
expression of suppressed disapprobation, and, shutting
c the door with a bang, went and stretched himself at full
X length on the sofa, and composed himself to sleep. But
his favourite cocker, Dash, that had been lying at my
feet, took the liberty of jumping upon him and beginning
- to lick his face. He struck it off with a smart blow,
and the poor dog squeaked, and ran cowering back to
me. When he woke up, about half-an-hour after, he
called it to him again, but Dash only looked sheepish
and wagged the tip of his tail. He called again more
|f sharply, but Dash only clung the closer to me, and
licked my hand as if imploring protection. Enraged at
this, his master snatched up a heavy book and hurled it
at his head. The poor dog set up a piteous outcry and
1 ran to the door. I let him out, and then quietly took
up the book.

“ Give that book to me,” said Arthur, in no very
courteous tone. I gave it to him.

“ Why did you let the dog out ? ” he asked. “ You
| knew I wanted him.”

“ By what token ? ” I replied ; “ by your throwing
i the book at him ? but, perhaps, it was intended for
me?”

« No ; but I see you’ve got a taste of it,” said he,

I

2 28 THE TENANT OF WILD FELL HALL.

looking at my hand, that had also been struck, and was
rather severely grazed.

I returned to my reading, and he endeavoured to
occupy himself in the same manner; but, in a little
while, after several portentous yawns, he pronounced his
book to be “ cursed trash,” and threw it on the table.
Then followed eight or ten minutes of silence, during
the greater part of which, I believe, he was staring at
me. At last his patience was tired out.

“ What is that book, Helen ? ” he exclaimed.

I told him.

“ Is it interesting ? ”

“Yes, very.”

I went on reading, or pretending to read, at least — I
cannot say there was much communication between my
eyes and my brain ; for, while the former ran over the
pages, the latter was earnestly wondering when Arthur
would speak next, and what he would say, and what I
should answer. But he did not speak again till I rose
to make the tea, and then it was only to say he should
not take any. He continued lounging on the sofa, and
alternately closing his eyes and looking at his watch and
at me, till bed-time, when I rose, and took my candle
and retired.

“ Helen ! ” cried he, the moment I had left the
room. I turned back, and stood awaiting his
commands.

“ What do you want, Arthur ? ” I said at length.

“ Nothing,” replied he. “ Go ! ”

I went, but hearing him mutter something as I was
closing the door, I turned again. It sounded very like
“ confounded slut,” but I was quite willing it should be
something else.

“Were you speaking, Arthur?” I asked.

“ No,” was the answer, and I shut the door and
departed. I saw nothing more of him till the following

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

229

morning at breakfast, when he came down a full hour
1 after the usual time.

“ You’re very late,” was my morning’s salutation.

“ You needn’t have waited for me,” was his ; and he
walked up to the window again. It was just such
weather as yesterday.

“ Oh, this confounded rain ! ” he muttered. But,
after studiously regarding it for a minute or two, a
bright idea seemed to strike him, for he suddenly ex-
claimed, “ But I know what I’ll do ! ” and then re-
turned and took his seat at the table. The letter-bag
was already there, waiting to be opened. He unlocked
it and examined the contents, but said nothing about
them.

" Is there anything for me ? ” I asked.

“ No.”

He opened the newspaper and began to read.

« You’d better take your coffee,” suggested I ; “it
will be cold again.”

** You may go,” said He, “ if you’ve done. I don t
want you.”

I rose and withdrew to the next room, wondering if
we were to have another such miserable day as yester-
day, and wishing intensely for an end of these mutually
inflicted torments. Shortly after I heard him ring the
bell and give some orders about his wardrobe that
sounded as if he meditated a long journey. He then
sent for the coachman, and I heard something about the
carriage and the horses, and London, and seven o clock
to-morrow morning, that startled and disturbed me not
a little.

“ I must not let him go to London, whatever comes
of it,” said I to myself ; “ he will run into all kinds of
mischief, and I shall be the cause of it. But the ques-
tion is, how am I to alter his purpose ?— Well, I will
wait awhile, and see if he mentions it. ’

230

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

I waited most anxiously, from hour to hour ; but not
a word was spoken, on that or any other subject, to me.
He whistled and talked to his dogs, and wandered from
room to room, much the same as on the previous day.
At last I began to think I must introduce the subject
myself, and was pondering how to bring it about, when
John unwittingly came to my relief with the following
message from the coachman —

“ Please, sir, Richard says one of the horses has got
a very bad cold, and he thinks, sir, if you could make
it convenient to go the day after to-morrow, instead of
to-morrow, he could physic it to-day so as ”

“ Confound his impudence ! ” interjected the
master.

“ Please, sir, he says it would be a deal better if you
could,” persisted John, “ for he hopes there’ll be a
change in the weather shortly, and he says it’s not likely,
when a horse is so bad with a cold, and physicked and
all ”

“ Devil take the horse ! ” cried the gentleman —
“ Well,^tell him I’ll think about it,” he added, after a
moment’s reflection. He cast a searching glance at me,
as the servant withdrew, expecting to see some token of
deep astonishment and alarm ; but, being previously pre-
pared, I preserved an aspect of stoical indifference. His
countenance fell as he met my steady gaze, and he
turned away in very obvious disappointment, and walked
up to the fireplace, where he stood in an attitude of un-
disguised dejection, leaning against the chimney-piece
with his forehead sunk upon his arm.

“ Where do you want to go, Arthur i 99 said I.

“To London,” replied he gravely.

“ What for ? ” I asked.

“ Because I cannot be happy here.”

“ Why not ? ”

4t Because my wife doesn’t love me.”

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

231

“ She would love you with all her heart, if you
deserved it.”

“ What must I do to deserve it ? ”

This seemed humble and earnest enough ; and I was
so much affected, between sorrow and joy, that I was
obliged to pause a few seconds before I could steady
my voice to reply.

“ If she gives you her heart,” said I, “ you must take
it thankfully, and use it well, and not pull it in pieces,
and laugh in her face, because she cannot snatch it
away.”

He now turned round and stood facing me, with his
back to the fire.

“ Come then, Helen, are you going to be a good
girl ? ” said he.

This sounded rather too arrogant, and the smile that
accompanied it did not please me. I therefore hesitated
to reply. Perhaps my former answer had implied too
much : he had heard my voice falter, and might have
seen me brush away a tear.

“ Are you going to forgive me, Helen ? ” he resumed,
more humbly.

“ Are you penitent ? ” I replied, stepping up to him
and smiling in his face.

“ Heart-broken ! ” he answered, with a rueful coun-
tenance, yet with a merry smile just lurking within his
eyes and about the corners of his mouth ; but this could
not repulse me, and I flew into his arms. He fervently
embraced me, and though I shed a torrent of tears, I
think I never was happier in my life than at that
moment.

“ Then you won’t go to London, Arthur ? ” I
said, when the first transport of tears and kisses had
subsided.

“No, love, — unless you will go with me.”

“ I will, gladly,” I answered, “ if you think the

232 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

change will amuse you, and if you will put off' the
journey till next week.”

He readily consented, but said there was no need o f
much preparation, as he should not be for staying long,
for he did not wish me to be Londonised, and to lose
my country freshness and originality by too much in-
tercourse with the ladies of the world. I thought this
folly ; but I did not wish to contradict him now : I
merely said that I was of very domestic habits, as he
well knew, and had no particular wish to mingle with
the world.

So we are to go to London on Monday, the day
after to-morrow. It is now four days since the termina-
tion of our quarrel, and I’m sure it has done us both
good : it has made me like Arthur a great deal better,
and made him behave a great deal better to me. He
has never once attempted to annoy me since, by the

most distant allusion to Lady F , or any of those

disagreeable reminiscences of his former life— I wish I
could blot them from my memory, or else get him to
regard such matters in the same light as I do. Well !
it is something, however, to have made him see that
they are not fit subjects for a conjugal jest. He may
see further some time — I will put no limits to my
hopes ; and, in spite of my aunt’s forebodings and my
own unspoken fears, I trust we shall be happy yet.

ON the eighth of April, we went to London ; on
the eighth of May I returned, in obedience to
Arthur’s wish ; very much against my own,
because I left him behind. If he had come with me, [
should have been very glad to get home again, for

o-

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL,

233

he led me such a round of restless dissipation, while
there, that, in that short space of time, I was quite
tired out. He seemed bent upon displaying me to his
friends and acquaintances in particular, and the public
in general, on every possible occasion, and to the
greatest possible advantage. It was something to feel
that he considered me a worthy object of pride ; but
I paid dear for the gratification, for, in the first place,
to please him, I had to violate my cherished predilec-
tions— my almost rooted principles in favour of a plain,
dark, sober style of dress ; I must sparkle in costly
jewels, and deck myself out like a painted butterfly,
just as I had, long since, determined I would never
do — and this was no trifling sacrifice ; — in the second
place, I was continually straining to satisfy his sanguine
expectations and do honour to his choice, by my general
conduct and deportment, and fearing to disappoint
him by some awkward misdemeanour, or some trait
of inexperienced ignorance about the customs of society,
especially when I acted the part of hostess, which I
was not un frequently called upon to do ; and . in
the third place, as I intimated before, I was wearied
of the throng and bustle, the restless hurry and ceaseless
change of a life so alien to all my previous habits. At
last, he suddenly discovered that the London air did not
agree with me, and I was languishing for my country
home, and must immediately return to Grassdale.

I laughingly assured him that the case was not so
urgent as he appeared to think it, but I was quite
willing to go home if he was. He replied that he
should be obliged to remain a week or two longer, as
he had business that required his presence.

“ Then I will stay with you,” said I.

“ But I can’t do with you, Helen,” was his answer :
“ as long as you stay, I shall attend to you and neglect
my business.”

234 THE tenant of wildfell hall.

“ But I won’t let you,” I returned : “now that I know
you have business to attend to, I shall insist upon your
attending to it, and letting me alone — and, to tell
the truth, I shall be glad of a little rest. I can take
my. rides and walks in the park as usual ; and your
business cannot occupy all your time ; I shall see
you at meal-times and in the evenings, at least, and
that will be better than being leagues away and never
seeing you at all.”

“ But, my love, I cannot let you stay. How can I
settle my affairs when I know that you are here,
neglected ”

66 1 shall not feel myself neglected ; while you are
doing your duty, Arthur, I shall never complain of
neglect. If you had told me before, that you had
anything to do, it would have been half done before
this ; and now you must make up for lost time by
redoubled exertions. Tell me what it is ; and I will
be your taskmaster, instead of being a hindrance.”

“No, no,” persisted the impracticable creature;
“ you must go home, Helen ; I must have the satis-
faction of knowing that you are safe and well, though
far away. Your bright eyes are faded, and that tender,
delicate bloom has quite deserted your cheek.”

“That is only with too much gaiety and fatigue.”
“It. is not, I tell you; it is the London air: you
are pining for the fresh breezes of your country home —
and you shall feel them, before you are two days older.
And remember your situation, dearest Helen ; on your
health, you know, depends the health, if not the life, of
our future hope.”

“ Then you really wish to get rid of me ? ”

“ Positively, I do ; and I will take you down myself
to Grassdale, and then return. I shall not be absent
above a week — or fortnight at most.”

“ But if I must go, I will go alone : if you must

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL. 235

stay, it is needless to waste your time in the journey
there and back.”

But he did not like the idea of sending me alone. ^

“ Why, what helpless creature do you take me for,

I replied, “ that you cannot trust me to go a hundred
miles in our own carriage with our own footman and a
maid to attend me ? If you come with me I shall assuredly
keep you. But tell me, Arthur, what is this tiresome
business ; and why did you never mention it before ? ”

« It is only a little business with my lawyer, said
he 5 and he told me something about a piece of pro-
perty he wanted to sell in order to pay off a part of the
TiCumbrances on his estate ; but either the account was
a little confused, or I was rather dull of comprehension,
for I could not clearly understand how that should keep
him in town a fortnight after me. Still less can I
now comprehend how it should keep him a month
for it is nearly that time since I left him, and. no signs
of his return as yet. In every letter he promises to be
with me in a few days, and every time deceives me— or
deceives himself. His excuses are vague and insufficient.
I cannot doubt that he is got among his former com-
panions again— Oh, why did I leave him ! I wish— I
do intensely wish he would return !

June 29 th. — No Arthur yet ; and for many days 1
have been looking and longing in . vain for a letter.
His letters, when they come, are kind — if fair words
and endearing epithets can give them a claim to the
title — but very short, and full of trivial excuses and
promises that I cannot trust ; and yet how anxiously I
look forward to them 1 how eagerly I open and devour
one of those little, hastily-scribbled returns for the three
or four long letters, hitherto unanswered, he has had from

Oh, it is cruel to leave me so long alone ! He knows
I have no one but Rachel to speak to, for we have no

236 THE TENANT OF

WILDFELL HALL.

neighbours here, except the Hargraves, whose residence
1 can dimly descry from these upper windows em-
bosomed among those low, woody hills beyond the
Hale. I was glad when I learnt that Milicent was so
near us; and her company would be a soothing solace
to me now, but she is still in town with her mother :
there is no one at the Grove but little Esther and her
rench governess, for Walter is always away. I
saw that paragon of manly perfections in London : he
seemed scarcely to merit the eulogiums of his mother
and sister, though he certainly appeared more convers-
able and agreeable than Lord Lowborough, more candid
and high-minded than Mr Grimsby, and more polished
and gentlemanly than Mr Hattersley, Arthur's only other
friend whom he judged fit to introduce to me.— Oh,
Arthur, why won’t you come ! why won’t you write
to me at least! You talked about my health — how
can you expect me to gather bloom and vigour here ;
pining in solitude and restless anxiety from day to day ?
—It would serve you right to come back and find my
good looks entirely wasted away. I would beg my
uncle and aunt, or my brother, to come and see me,
but I do not like to complain of my loneliness to them,
—and indeed, loneliness is the least of my sufferings ;
but what is he doing— what is it that keeps him away ?

Lt is this ever-recurring question and the horrible sug-
gestions it raises that distract me.

July 3 rd \ My last bitter letter has wrung from him

an answer at last,— and a rather longer one than usual ;
but still I don’t know what to make of it. He play-
fully abuses me for the gall and vinegar of my latest
effusion, tells me I can have no conception of the mul-
titudinous engagements that keep him away, but avers
that, in spite of them all, he will assuredly be with me
before the close of next week ; though it is impossible
for a man, so circumstanced as he is, to fix the precise

\

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL. 237

day of his return : meantime he exhorts me to the
exercise of patience, “ that first of woman’s virtues,”
and desires me to remember the saying, “ Absence
makes the heart grow fonder,” and comfort myself
with the assurance that the longer he stays away, the
better he shall love me when he returns ; and till he
does return, he begs I will continue to write to him
constantly, for, though he is sometimes too idle and
often too busy to answer my letters as they come, he
likes to receive them daily, and if I fulfil my threat of
punishing his seeming neglect by ceasing to write, he
shall be so angry that he will do his utmost to forget
me. He adds this piece of intelligence respecting poor
Milicent Hargrave —

“ Your little friend Milicent is likely, before long, to
follow your example, and take upon her the yoke of
matrimony in conjunction with a friend of mine.
Hattersley, you know, has not yet fulfilled his direful
threat of throwing his precious person away on the first old
maid that chose to evince a tenderness for him ; but
he still preserves a resolute determination to see himself
a married man before the year is out : ‘ Only,’ said he
to me, * I must have somebody that will let me have
my own way in everything— not like your wife, Hunt-
ingdon ; she is a charming creature, but she looks as if
she had a will of her own, and could play the vixen
upon occasion’ (I thought ‘you’re right there, man,’
but I didn’t say so). ‘I must have some good, quiet
soul that will let me just do what I like and go where
I like, keep at home or stay away, without a word of
reproach or complaint ; for I can’t do with being
bothered.’ ‘ Well,’ said I, ‘I know somebody that
will suit you to a tee, if you don’t care for money, and
that’s Hargrave’s sister, Milicent.’ He desired to be
introduced to her forthwith, for he said he had plenty
of the needful himself — or should have, when his old

238 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

governor chose to quit the stage. So you see, Helen,
I have managed pretty well, both for your friend and
mine.”

Poor Milicent ! But I cannot imagine she will
ever be led to accept such a suitor — one so repugnant
to all her ideas of a man to be honoured and loved.

yh. — Alas ! I was mistaken. I have got a long
letter from her this morning, telling me she is already
engaged, and expects to be married before the close of
the month.

“ I hardly know what to say about it,” she writes,
“or what to think. To tell you the truth, Helen, I
don’t like the thoughts of it at all. If I am to be Mr
Hattersley’s wife, I must try to love him ; and I do
try with all my might ; but I have made very little pro-
gress yet ; and the worst symptom of the case is, that
the further he is from me the better I like him : he
frightens me with his abrupt manners and strange hector-
ing ways, and I dread the thoughts of marrying him.
‘ Then why have you accepted him ? ’ you will ask ;
and I didn’t know I had accepted him ; but mamma
tells me I have, and he seems to think so too. I
certainly didn’t mean to do so ; but I did not like to
give him a flat refusal for fear mamma should be grieved
and angry (for I knew she wished me to marry him),
and I wanted to talk to her first about it, so I gave him
what I thought was an evasive, half negative answer ;
but she says it was as good as an acceptance, and he
would think me very capricious if I were to attempt
to draw back — and indeed, I was so confused and
frightened at the moment, I can hardly tell what I
said. And next time I saw him, he accosted me in
all confidence as his affianced bride, and immediately
began to settle matters with mamma. I had not courage
to contradict them then, and how can I do it now ?
I cannot : they would think me mad. Besides, mamma

1

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

239

is so delighted with the idea of the match ; she thinks
she has managed so well for me ; and I cannot bear to
disappoint her. I do object sometimes, and tell her
what I feel, but you don’t know how she talks. Mr
Hattersley, you know, is the son of a rich banker, and
as Esther and I have no fortunes, and Walter very
little, our dear mamma is very anxious to see us all well
married, that is, united to rich partners — it is not my
idea of being well married, but she means it all for the

Sbest. She says when I am safe off her hands it will be
such a relief to her mind ; and she assures me it will

be a good thing for the family as well as for me.
Even Walter is pleased at the prospect, and when I
confessed my reluctance to him, he said it was all
childish nonsense. Do you think it nonsense, Helen ?
I should not care if I could see any prospect of being
able to love and admire him, but I can’t. There is
nothing about him to hang one’s esteem and affection
upon : he is so diametrically opposite to what I imagined
my husband should be. Do write to me, and say all
you can to encourage me. Don’t attempt to dissuade

word against Mr Hattersley, for I want to think well
of him ; and though I have spoken against him myself,
it is for the last time ; hereafter, I shall never permit
myself to utter a word in his dispraise, however he may
seem to deserve it ; and whoever ventures to speak
slightingly of the man I have promised to love, to
honour, and obey, must expect my serious displeasure.
After all, I think he is quite as good as Mr Hunt-
ingdon, if not better ; and yet, you love him, and seem
to be happy and contented ; and perhaps I may manage
as well. You must tell me, if you can, that Mr
Hattersley is better than he seems — that he is upright,
honourable, and open-hearted — in fact, a perfect

240 THE TENANT OF WILD FELL HALL.

diamond in the rough. He may be all this, but I
don t know him. I know only the exterior and what
I trust is the worst part of him.”

She concludes with “ Good-bye, dear Helen, I am
waiting anxiously for your advice — but mind you let it
be ..all on the right side.”

Alas ! poor Milicent, what encouragement can I give
you ? or what advice — except that it is better to make
a bold stand now, though at the expense of disappoint-
ing and angering both mother and brother, and lover,
than to devote your whole life, hereafter, to misery and
vain regret ?

Saturday , 1 3 th • — *1 he week is over, and he is not
come. All the sweet summer is passing away without
one breath of pleasure to me or benefit to him. And I
had all along been looking forward to this season with
the fond, delusive hope that we should enjoy it so
sweetly together ; and that, with God’s help and my
exertions, it would be the means of elevating his mind,
and refining his taste to a due appreciation of the salu-
tary and pure delights of nature, and peace, and holy
love. But now — at evening, when I see the round,
red sun sink quietly down behind those woody hills,
leaving them sleeping in a warm, red, golden haze, I
only think another lovely day is lost to him and me ;
and at morning, when roused by the flutter and chirp of
the sparrows, and the gleeful twitter of the swallows —
all intent upon feeding their young, and full of life and
joy in their own little frames — I open the window to
inhale the balmy, soul-reviving air, and look out upon
the lovely landscape, laughing in dew and sunshine — I
too often shame that glorious scene with tears of thank-
less misery, because he cannot feel its freshening influ-
ence ; and when I wander in the ancient woods, and
meet the little wild-flowers smiling in my path, or sit in
the shadow of our noble ash-trees by the water-side,

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

241

with their branches gently swaying in the light summer
breeze that murmurs through their feathery foliage — my
ears full of that low music mingled with the dreamy
hum of insects, my eyes abstractedly gazing on the
glassy surface of the little lake before me, with the
trees that crowd about its bank, some gracefully bending
to kiss its waters, some rearing their stately heads high
above, but stretching their wide arms over its margin,
all faithfully mirrored far, far down in its glassy depth —
though sometimes the images are partially broken by the
sport of aquatic insects, and sometimes, for a moment,
the whole is shivered into trembling fragments by a
transient breeze that swept the surface too roughly —
still I have no pleasure ; for the greater the happiness
that nature sets before me, the more I lament that he is
not here to taste it : the greater the bliss we might
enjoy together, the more I feel our present wretched-
ness apart (yes, ours ; he must be wretched though he
may not know it) ; and the more my senses are
pleased, the more my heart is oppressed ; for he
keeps it with him confined amid the dust and smoke of
London — perhaps, shut up within the walls of his own
abominable club.

But most of all, at night, when I enter my lonely
chamber, and look out upon the summer moon, “ sweet
regent of the sky,” floating above me in the “ black
blue vault of heaven,” shedding a flood of silver
radiance over park, and wood, and water, so pure, so
peaceful, so divine — and think, Where is he now ? —
what is he doing at this moment ? wholly unconscious
of this heavenly scene — perhaps, revelling with his
boon companions, perhaps — God help me, it is too —
too much !

23 rd. — Thank Heaven, he is come at last ! But
how altered ! flushed and feverish, listless and languid,
his beauty strangely diminished, his vigour and vivacity
I. Q

242 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL,

quite departed, I have not upbraided him by word or
look ; I have not even asked him what he has been doing.

I have not the heart to do it, for I think he is ashamed of
himself— he must be so indeed, and such inquiries
could not fail to be painful to both. My forbearance
pleases him— touches him even, I am inclined to think.
He says he is glad to be home again, and God knows
how glad I am to get him back, even as he is. He
lies on the sofa nearly all day long ; and I play and
sing to him for hours together. I write his letters
for him, and get him everything he wants ; and some-
times I read to him, and sometimes I talk, and some-
times only sit by him and soothe him with silent
caresses. I know he does not deserve it ; and I fear
I am spoiling him ; but this once, I will forgive him,
freely and entirely. I will shame him into virtue if
I can, and 1 will never let him leave me again.

He is pleased with my attentions — it may be, grateful
for them. He likes to have me near him ; and though
he is peevish and testy with his servants and his dogs, he
is gentle and kind to me. What he would be, if I did
not so watchfully anticipate his wants, and so carefully
avoid, or immediately desist from doing anything that
has a tendency to irritate or disturb him, with however
little reason, I cannot tell. How intensely I wish he
were worthy of all this care ! Last night as I sat beside
him, with his head in my lap, passing my fingers through
his beautiful curls, this thought made my eyes overflow
with sorrowful tears — as it often does ; but this time, a
tear fell on his face and made him look up. He
smiled, but not insultingly.

“ Dear Helen ! ” he said — “ why do you cry ? you !
know that I love you ” (and he pressed my hand to his
feverish lips), “ and what more could you desire ? ”

u Only, Arthur, that you would love yourself, as
truly and as faithfully as you are loved by me.”

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL. 243

“ That would be hard, indeed ! ” he replied, tenderly
squeezing my hand.

August 24th. — Arthur is himself again, as lusty and
reckless, as light of heart and head as ever, and as rest-
less and hard to amuse as a spoilt child, and almost as
full of mischief too, especially when wet weather keeps
him within doors. I wish he had something to do,
some useful trade, or profession, or employment — any-
thing to occupy his head or his hands for a few hours
a day, and give him something besides his own pleasure
to think about. If he would play the country gentle-
man, and attend to the farm — but that he knows nothing
about, and won’t give his mind to consider, — or if he
would take up with some literary study, or learn to draw
or to play — as he is so fond of music, I often try to
persuade him to learn the piano, but he is far too idle
for such an undertaking : he has no more idea of
exerting himself to overcome obstacles than he has of
restraining his natural appetites ; and these two things
are the ruin of him. I lay them both to the charge of
his harsh yet careless father, and his madly indulgent
mother. If ever I am a mother I will zealously strive
against this crime of over-indulgence. I can hardly
give it a milder name when I think of the evils it
brings. 4

Happily, it will soon be the shooting season, and
then, if the weather permit, he will find occupation
enough in the pursuit and destruction of the partridges
and pheasants : we have no grouse, or he might have
been similarly occupied at this moment, instead of lying
under the acacia tree pulling poor Dash’s ears. But he
says it is dull work shooting alone ; he must have a friend
or two to help him.

« Let them be tolerably decent then, Arthur,” said
I. The word “ friend,” in his mouth, makes me
shudder : I know it was some of his “ friends ” that

244 THE tenant of wildfell hall.

induced him to stay behind me in London, and kept
him away so long — indeed, from what he has unguard-
edly told me, or hinted from time to time, I cannot
doubt that he frequently showed them my letters, to let
them see how fondly his wife watched over his interests,
and how keenly she regretted his absence ; and that they
induced him to remain week after week, and to plunge
into all manner of excesses to avoid being laughed at for
a wife-ridden fool, and, perhaps, to show how far he
could venture to go without danger of shaking the fond
creature’s devoted attachment. It is a hateful idea, but
I cannot believe it is a false one.

“Well,” replied he, “I thought of Lord Low-
borough for one ; but there is no possibility of getting
lnm without his better half, our mutual friend, Annabella;
so we must ask them both. You’re not afraid of her,
are you, Helen i he asked, with a mischievous twinkle
in his eyes.

“ 0f couree not,” I answered : « why should I ?—
And who besides ? ”

‘ Hargrave for one — he will be glad to come, though
his own place is so near, for he has little enough land of
his own to shoot over, and we can extend our depreda-
tions into it, if we like ; — and he is thoroughly respect-
able, you know, Helen, quite a lady’s man and I
think Grimsby for another : he’s a decent, quiet fellow
enough— you’ll not object to Grimsby ? ”

“ I hate him : but, however, if you wish it, I’ll try to
endure his presence for a while.”

“All a prejudice, Helen— a mere woman’s anti-
pathy.”

“No ; I have solid grounds for my dislike. And is
that all ? ”

Why, yes, I think so. Hattersley will be too busy
billing and cooing with his bride to have much time to
spare for guns and dogs, at present,” he replied. And

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL. 245

that reminds me, that I have had several letters from
Milicent since her marriage, and that she either is, or
pretends to be, quite reconciled to her lot. She pro-
fesses to have discovered numberless virtues and perfec-
tions in her husband, some of which, I fear, less partial
eyes would fail to distinguish, though they sought them
carefully with tears ; and now that she is accustomed to
his loud voice, and abrupt, uncourteous manners, she
affirms she finds no difficulty in loving him as a wife
should do, and begs I will burn that letter wherein she
spoke so unadvisedly against him. So that I trust she
may yet be happy ; but, if she is, it will be entirely the
reward of her own goodness of heart; for had she
chosen to consider herself the victim of fate, or of
her mother’s worldly wisdom, she might have been
thoroughly miserable ; and if, for duty’s sake, she had
not made every effort to love her husband, she would,
doubtless, have hated him to the end of her days.

Sept. 23 rd.

OUR guests arrived about three weeks ago. Lord
and Lady Lowborough have now been married
above eight months ; and I will do the lady
the credit to say that her husband is quite an altered
man ; his looks, his spirits, and his temper, are all
perceptibly changed for the better since I last saw
him. But there is room for improvement still. He is
not always cheerful, nor always contented, and she often
complains of his ill-humour, which, however, of all
persons, she ought to be the last to accuse him of, as he
never displays it against her, except for such conduct as
would provoke a saint. He adores her still, and would

o-

v_

246 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

go to the world’s end to please her. She knows her
power, and she uses it too ; but well knowing, that
to wheedle and coax is safer than to command, she
judiciously tempers her despotism with flattery and
blandishments enough to make him deem himself a
favoured and a happy man.

But she has a way of tormenting him, in which I am
a fellow-sufferer, or might be, if I chose to regard my-
self as such. This is by openly, but not too glaringly,
coquetting with Mr Huntingdon, who is quite willing
to be her partner in the game ; but I don’t care for it,
because, with him, I know there is nothing but personal
vanity, and a mischievous desire to excite my jealousy,
and, perhaps, to torment his friend ; and she, no doubt, is
actuated by much the same motives ; only there is more
of malice, and less of playfulness, in her manoeuvres. It
is obviously, therefore, my interest to disappoint them
both, as far as I am concerned, by preserving a cheerful,
undisturbed serenity throughout; and, accordingly, I
endeavour to show the fullest confidence in my hus-
band, and the greatest indifference to the arts of my
attractive guest. 1 have never reproached the former
but once, and that was for laughing at Lord Low-
borough’s depressed and anxious countenance one even-
ing, when they had both been particularly provoking ;
and then, indeed, I said a good deal on the subject, and
rebuked him sternly enough ; but he only laughed, and
said —

“ You can feel for him, Helen — can’t you ! ”

“ I can feel for any one that is unjustly treated,” I
replied, “ and I can feel for those that injure them
too.”

“ Why, Helen, you are as jealous as he is ! ” cried
he, laughing still more ; and I found it impossible to
convince him of his mistake. So, from that time, I
have carefully refrained from any notice of the subject

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL. 247

whatever, and left Lord Lowborough to take care of
himself. He either has not the sense or the power to
follow my example, though he does try to conceal his
uneasiness as well as he can ; but still, it will appear in
his face, and his ill-humour will peep out at intervals,
though not in the expression of open resentment — they
never go far enough for that. But, I confess, I do feel
jealous at times — most painfully, bitterly so — when she
sings and plays to him, and he hangs over the instru-
ment, and dwells upon her voice with no affected in-
terest ; for then, I know he is really delighted, and I
have no power to awaken similar fervour. I can amuse
and please him with my simple songs, but not delight
him thus.

28 th. — Yesterday, we all went to the Grove, Mr
Hargrave’s much- neglected home. His mother fre-
quently asks us over, that she may have the pleasure of
her dear Walter’s company ; and this time she had
invited us to a dinner-party, and got together as many
of the country gentry as were within reach to meet us.
The entertainment was very well got up ; but I could
not help thinking about the cost of it all the time. I
don’t like Mrs Hargrave ; she is a hard, pretentious,
worldly-minded woman. She has money enough to
live very comfortably, if she only knew how to use it
judiciously, and had taught her son to do the same ;
but she is ever straining to keep up appearances, with
that despicable pride that shuns the semblance of poverty
as of a shameful crime. She grinds her dependants,
pinches her servants, and deprives even her daughters
and herself of the real comforts of life, because she will
not consent to yield the palm in outward show to those
who have three times her wealth ; and, above all, because
she is determined her cherished son shall be enabled to
« hold up his head with the highest gentleman in the
land.” This same son, I imagine, is a man of expensive

248 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

habits — no reckless spendthrift, and no abandoned sen-
sualist, but one who likes to have u everything handsome
about him,” and to go to a certain length in youthful
indulgences — not so much to gratify his own tastes as
to maintain his reputation as a man of fashion in the
world, and a respectable fellow among his own lawless
companions ; while he is too selfish to consider how
many comforts might be obtained for his fond mother
and sisters with the money he thus wastes upon himself :
as long as they can contrive to make a respectable
appearance once a year, when they come to town, he
gives himself little concern about their private stintings
and struggles at home. This is a harsh judgment to form
of “ dear, noble-minded, generous-hearted Walter,” but
I fear it is too just.

Mrs Hargrave’s anxiety to make good matches for
her daughters is partly the cause, and partly the result,
of these errors : by making a figure in the world, and
showing them off to advantage, she hopes to obtain
better chances for them ; and by thus living beyond her
legitimate means, and lavishing so much on their brother,
she renders them portionless, and makes them burdens
on her hands. Poor Milicent, I fear, has already fallen
a sacrifice to the manoeuvrings of this mistaken mother,
who congratulates herself on having so satisfactorily dis-
charged her maternal duty, and hopes to do as well for
Esther. But Esther is a child as yet — a little merry
romp of fourteen : as honest-hearted, and as guileless
and simple as her sister ; but with a fearless spirit of her
own, that I fancy her mother will find some difficulty
in bending to her purposes.

o«

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

249

Chapter wchift 2-^A

October gth.

IT was on the night of the 4th, a little after tea, that
Annabella had been singing and playing, with
Arthur as usual at her side : she had ended her
song, but still she sat at the instrument ; and he stood
leaning on the back of her chair, conversing in scarcely
audible tones, with his face in very close proximity with
hers. I looked at Lord Lowborough. He was at the
other end of the room, talking with Messrs Hargrave
and Grimsby ; but I saw him dart towards his lady and
his host a quick, impatient glance, expressive of intense
disquietude, at which Grimsby smiled. Determined to
interrupt the tete-a-tete , I rose, and, selecting a piece of
music from the music-stand, stepped up to the piano, in-
tending to ask the lady to play it ; but I stood transfixed
and speechless on seeing her seated there, listening, with
what seemed an exultant smile on her flushed face, to
his soft murmurings, with her hand quietly surrendered
to his clasp. The blood rushed first to my heart, and
then to my head ; for there was more than this ; almost
at the moment of my approach, he cast a hurried glance
over his shoulder towards the other occupants of the room,
and then ardently pressed the unresisting hand to his lips.
On raising his eyes, he beheld me, and dropped them
again, confounded and dismayed. She saw me too, and
confronted me with a look of hard defiance. I laid the
music on the piano, and retired. I felt ill ; but I did
not leave the room : happily, it was getting late, and
could not be long before the company dispersed. I
went to the fire, and leant my head against the chimney-
piece. In a minute or two, some one asked me if I
felt unwell. I did not answer ; indeed, at the time, I
knew not what was said ; but I mechanically looked up,

250 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

and saw Mr Hargrave standing beside me on the
rug.

“ Shall I get you a glass of wine ? ” said he.

“ No, thank you,” I replied ; and, turning from him,
1 looked round. Lady Lowbo rough was beside her
husband, bending over him as he sat, with her hand on
his shoulder, softly talking and smiling in his face ; and
Arthur was at the table, turning over a book of engrav-
ings. I seated myself in the nearest chair ; and Mr
Hargrave, finding his services were not desired,
judiciously withdrew. Shortly after, the company
broke up, and, as the guests were retiring to their
rooms, Arthur approached me, smiling with the utmost
assurance.

“ Are you very angry, Helen ? ” murmured he.

“ This is no jest, Arthur,” said I seriously, but as
calmly as I could — “ unless you think it a jest to lose
my affection for ever.”

“ What ! so bitter ? ” he exclaimed laughingly,
clasping my hand between both his ; but I snatched it
away, in indignation — almost in disgust, for he was ob-
viously affected with wine.

“ Then I must go down on my knees,” said he ;
and kneeling before me, with clasped hands, uplifted in
mock humiliation, he continued imploringly — “ Forgive
me, Helen! — dear Helen, forgive me, and I'll never
do it again ! ” and, burying his face in his handkerchief,
he affected to sob aloud.

# Leaving him thus employed, I took my candle, and,
slipping quietly from the room, hastened upstairs as fast
as I could. But he soon discovered that I had left
him, and, rushing up after me, caught me in his arms,
just as I had entered the chamber, and was about to
shut the door in his face.

“ No, no, by heaven, you shan’t escape me so ! ” he
cried. Then, alarmed at my agitation, he begged me

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

251

not to put myself in such a passion, telling me I was
white in the face, and should kill myself if I did so.

« Let me go, then,” I murmured ; and immediately
he released me — and it was well he did, for 1 was
really in a passion. I sank into the easy-chair and en-
deavoured to compose myself, for I wanted to speak to
him calmly. He stood beside me, but did not venture
to touch me or to speak, for a few seconds; then
approaching a little nearer, he dropped on one knee—
not in mock humility, but to bring himself nearer my
level, and leaning his hand on the arm of the chair, he
began in a low voice —

“ It is all nonsense, Helen— a jest, a mere nothing—
not worth a thought. Will you never learn,” he
continued more boldly, “ that you have nothing to fear
from me ? that I love you wholly and entirely ? — or
if,” he added with a lurking smile, “ I ever give a
thought to another you may well spare it, for those
fancies are here and gone like a flash of lightning, while
my love for you burns on steadily, and for ever like
the sun. You little exorbitant tyrant, will not

that” # ,, ., t

“ Be quiet a moment, will you, Arthur, said 1,

« and listen to me — and don’t think I m in a jealous
fury : I am perfectly calm. Feel my hand.’. And I
gravely extended it towards him — but closed it upon his
with an energy that seemed to disprove the assertion,
and made him smile. “ You needn’t smile, sir,’ said
I, still tightening my grasp, and looking steadfastly on
him till he almost quailed before me. “ You may
think it all very fine, Mr Huntingdon, to amuse your-
self with rousing my jealousy ; but take care you don t
rouse my hate instead. And when you have once ex-
tinguished my love, you will find it no easy matter to

kindle it again.” -or

« Well, Helen, I won’t repeat the offence. But I

252 THE TENANT OF WILD FELL HALL.

meant nothing by it, I assure you. I had taken too
much wine, and I was scarcely myself at the time.”
“You often take too much wine 5 and that is
another practice I detest.” He looked up astonished
at my warmth. “Yes,” I continued. “I never
mentioned it before, because I was ashamed to do so ;
but now I’ll tell you that it distresses me, and may dis-
gust me, if you go on and suffer the habit to grow upon
you, as it will if you don’t check it in time. But the
whole system of your conduct to Lady Lowborough is
not referable to wine ; and this night you knew per-
fectly well what you were doing.”

“Well, I am sorry for it,” replied he, with more of
sulkiness than contrition: “what more would you have?”
“You are sorry that I saw you, no doubt,” I
answered coldly.

“ If you had not seen me,” he muttered, fixing his
eyes on the carpet, “it would have done no harm.”

My heart felt ready to burst; but I resolutely
swallowed back my emotion, and answered calmlv,

“ You think not ? ” y

“ No,” replied he boldly. “ After all, what have I
done ? It’s nothing — except as you choose to make it
a subject of accusation and distress.”

“ What would Lord Lowborough, your friend,
think, if he knew all ? or what would you yourself
think, if he or any other had acted the same part to me,
throughout, as you have to Annabella ? ”

“ I would blow his brains out.”

“ WeU> ^en, Arthur, how can you call it nothing—
an offence for which you would think yourself justified
in blowing another man’s brains out ? Is it nothing to
trifle with your friend’s feelings and mine — to endeavour
to steal a woman’s affections from her husband— what
he values more than his gold, and therefore what it is
more dishonest to take ? Are the marriage vows a jest ;

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL. 253

and is it nothing to make it your sport to break them,
and to tempt another to do the same? Can I love a
man that does such things, and coolly maintains it

“You are breaking your marriage vows yourself,
said he, indignantly rising and pacing to and Iro.
“You promised to honour and obey me, and now
you attempt to hector over me, and threaten and accuse
me and call me worse than a highwayman. If it were
not for your situation, Helen, 1 would not submit to it
so tamely. I won’t be dictated to by a woman, though

she be my wife.” ... T

“What will you do then? Will you go on till I

hate you ; and then accuse me of breaking my vows .

He was silent a moment, and then replied
“ You never will hate me.” Returning and resum-
ing his former position at my feet, he repeated more
vehemently— “ You cannot hate me, as long as I love

^ ° “ But how can I believe that you love me, if you
continue to act in this way? Just imagine yourself in
my place: would you think I loved you, if I did so.
Would you believe my protestations, and honour and
trust me under such circumstances ? ”

“The cases are different,” he replied. It is a
woman’s nature to be constant-to love one and one
only, blindly, tenderly, and for ever— bless them, dear
creatures! and you above them all— but you must
have some commiseration for us, Helen ; you must
give us a little more license, for as Shakespeare has 1
< However we do praise ourselves,

Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm.

More longing, wavering, sooner lost and won
Than women’s are.’ ”

me,

Do you mean by that, that your fancies are lost to
and won by Lady Lowborough ?

254 THE TENANT OF W1LDFELL HALL.

“No; Heaven is my witness that I think her mere
dust and ashes in comparison with you,— and shall
continue to think so, unless you drive me from you by
too much severity. She is a daughter of earth ; you
are an angel of heaven ; only be not too austere in your
divinity, and remember that I am a poor, fallible mortal.
Come now, Helen; won’t you forgive me?” he said,
gently taking my hand, and looking up with an innocent

“ 1 do> you will repeat the offence.”

“ I swear by ”

“ Don’t swear ; I’ll believe your word as well as
your oath. I wish I could have confidence in either.”
... lry me’ then, Helen: only trust and pardon me
this once, and you shall see ! Come, I am in hell’s
torments till you speak the word.”

I did not speak it, but I put my hand on his shoulder
and kissed his forehead, and then burst into tears. He
embraced me tenderly ; and we have been good friends
ever since. He has been decently temperate at table,
and well conducted towards Lady Lowborough. The
first day, he held himself aloof from her, as far as he
could without any flagrant breach of hospitality : since

that, he has been friendly and civil, but nothing more

in my presence, at least, nor, I think, at any other
time ; for she seems haughty and displeased, and Lord
Lowborough is manifestly more cheerful, and more
cordial towards his host than before. But I shall
be glad when they are gone, for I have so little love for
Anabella that it is quite a task to be civil to her, and as
she is the only woman here besides myself, we are
necessarily thrown so much together. Next time Mrs
Hargrave calls, I shall hail her advent as quite a relief.

1 have a good mind to ask Arthur’s leave to invite the
old lady to stay with us till our guests depart. I think
will. She will take it as a kind attention, and,

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

255

!

[l

though I have little relish for her society, she will be
truly welcome as a third to stand between Lady Low-
borough and me.

The first time the latter and I were alone together,
after that unhappy evening, was an hour or two after
breakfast on the following day, when the gentlemen
were gone out after the usual time spent in the wiiting
of letters, the reading of newspapers, and desultory
conversation. We sat silent for two or three minutes.
She was busy with her work, and I was running
over the columns of a paper from which I had extracted
all the pith some twenty minutes before. It was a
moment of painful embarrassment to me, and I thought
it must be infinitely more so to her ; but it seems I was
mistaken. She was the first to speak ; and, smiling
with the coolest assurance, she began —

“ Your husband was merry last night, Helen : is he

often so ? ”

My blood boiled in my face ; but it was better she
should seem to attribute his conduct to this than to

anything else. .

“No,” replied I, “and never will be so again, 1

trust.” # ^

“ You gave him a curtain lecture, did you ? 7
“ No ; but I told him I disliked such conduct, and
he promised me not to repeat it.” . .

“ I thought he looked rather subdued this morning,”
she continued ; “ and you, Helen ; you’ve been weep-
ing I see — that’s our grand resource, you know — but
doesn’t it make your eyes smart ? — and do you always
find it to answer ? ”

“I never cry for effect; nor can I conceive how

any one can.”

“ Well, I don’t know : I never had occasion to try
it ; but I think if Lowborough were to commit such
improprieties, I’d make him cry. I don’t wonder at

256 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

your being angry, for I’m sure I’d give my husband a
lesson he would not soon forget for a lighter offence
than that. But then he never will do anything of the
kind ; for I keep him in too good order for that.”

“ Are you sure you don’t arrogate too much of the
credit to yourself? Lord Lowborough was quite as
remarkable for his abstemiousness for some time before
you married him, as he is now, I have heard.”

“ Oh, about the wine you mean — yes, he’s safe
enough for that. And as to looking askance to
another woman — he’s safe enough for that too, while
I live, for he worships the very ground I tread on.”

“ Indeed — and are you sure you deserve it ? ”

“ Why, as to that, I can’t say : you know we’re all
fallible creatures, Helen ; we none of us deserve to be
worshipped. But are you sure your darling Hunting-
don deserves all the love you give to him ? ”

I knew not what to answer to this. 1 was burning
with anger ; but I suppressed all outward manifestations
of it, and only bit my lip and pretended to arrange my
work.

“ At any rate,” resumed she, pursuing her advantage,
“ you can console yourself with the assurance that you
are worthy of all the love he gives to you.”

“You flatter me,” said I; “but, at least, I can
try to be worthy of it.” And then 1 turned the
conversation.

o

/zg\ Chapter jejctmj,

December 2$th.

LAST Christmas I was a bride, with a heart over-
flowing with present bliss, and full of ardent
hopes for the future — though not unmingled
with foreboding fears. Now I am a wife : my bliss is

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

257

sobered, but not destroyed ; my hopes diminished, but
not departed ; my fears increased, but not yet thoroughly
confirmed ; and, thank Heaven, I am a mother too.
God has sent me a soul to educate for heaven, and
given me a new and calmer bliss, and stronger hopes to
comfort me.

Dec . 25 thy 1823. — Another year is gone. My
; little Arthur lives and thrives. He is healthy but not
robust, full of gentle playfulness and vivacity, already
j affectionate, and susceptible of passions and emotions it
will be long ere he can find words to express. He
has won his father’s heart at last ; and now my con-
stant terror is, lest he should be ruined by that father’s
thoughtless indulgence. But I must beware of my
own weakness too, for I never knew till now how
strong are a parent’s temptations to spoil an only child.

I have need of consolation in my son, for (to this
silent paper I may confess it) I have but little in my
husband. I love him still ; and he loves me, in his
own way — but oh, how different from the love I could
have given, and once had hoped to receive ! how little
real sympathy there exists between us ; how many of
my thoughts and feelings are gloomily cloistered within
my own mind ; how much of my higher and better self
(f is indeed unmarried — doomed either to harden and sour
in the sunless shade of solitude, or to quite degenerate
and fall away for lack of nutriment in this unwholesome
soil ! But, I repeat, I have no right to complain ;
only let me state the truth — some of the truth at least,
— and see hereafter if any darker truths will blot these
pages. We have now been full two years united — the
/ “ romance ” of our attachment must be worn away.

I Surely I have now got down to the lowest gradation in
Arthur’s affection, and discovered all the evils of his
nature : if there be any further change, it must be for
the better, as we become still more accustomed to each
R

l.

2 58 THE TENANT OF WILD FELL HALL.

other : surely we shall find no lower depth than this.
And, if so, I can bear it well — as well, at least, as I
have borne it hitherto.

Arthur is not what is commonly called a bad man :
he has many good qualities ; but he is a man without
self-restraint or lofty aspirations — a lover of pleasure,
given up to animal enjoyments : he is not a bad husband,
but his notions of matrimonial duties and comforts are
not my notions. Judging from appearances, his idea of
a wife is a thing to love one devotedly and to stay at
home — to wait upon her husband, and amuse him and
minister to his comfort in every possible way, while he
chooses to stay with her ; and, when he is absent, to
attend to his interests, domestic or otherwise, and
patiently wait his return ; no matter how he may be
occupied in the meantime.

Early in spring, he announced his intention of goin£
to London : his affairs there demanded his attendance
he said, and he could refuse it no longer. He
expressed his regret at having to leave me, bu
hoped I would amuse myself with the baby till he
returned.

“ But why leave me ? ” I said. “ I can go with you
I can be ready at any time.”

“ You would not take that child to town ? ”

“ Yes — why not ? ”

The thing was absurd : the air of the town woul<
be certain to disagree with him, and with me as
nurse ; the late hours and London habits would no
suit me under such circumstances ; and altogether h
assured me that it would be excessively troublesome
injurious, and unsafe. I overruled his objections a
well as I could, for I trembled at the thoughts of hi
going alone, and would sacrifice almost anything fc
myself, much even for my child, to prevent it ; but £
length he told me plainly, and somewhat testily, that h

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL. 259

could not do with me : he was worn out with the
baby’s restless nights, and must have some repose. I
proposed separate apartments ; but it would not do.

“The truth is, Arthur,” I said at last, “you
are weary of my company, and determined not to
have me with you. You might as well have said so at
once.”

He denied it ; but I immediately left the room, and
flew to the nursery to hide my feelings, if I could not
soothe them, there.

I was too much hurt to express any further dissat-
isfaction with his plans, or at all to refer to the
subject again, except for the necessary arrangements
concerning his departure and the conduct of afFairs
during his absence, till the day before he went, when
I earnestly exhorted him to take care of himself and
keep out of the way of temptation. He laughed at my
anxiety, but assured me there was no cause for it, and
promised to attend to my advice.

“ I suppose it is no use asking you to fix a day for
your return ? ” said I.

“ Why, no ; I hardly can, under the circumstances ;
but be assured, love, I shall not be long away.”

“ I don’t wish to keep you a prisoner at home,” I
replied. “ I should not grumble at your staying whole
months away — if you can be happy so long without me
— provided I knew you were safe; but I don’t like the
idea of your being there among your friends, as you call
them.”

“ Pooh, pooh, you silly girl ! Do you think I can’t
take care of myself? ”

“You didn’t last time. — But this time, Arthur,” I
added earnestly, “ show me that you can, and teach me
that I need not fear to trust you ! ”

He promised fair, but in such a manner as we seek to
soothe a child. And did he keep his promise ? No ;

260 the tenant of wildfell hall.

and, henceforth, I can never trust his word. Bitter,

bitter confession ! Tears blind me while I write. It i
was early in March that he went, and he did not return
till July. This time he did not trouble himself to j
make excuses as before, and his letters were less fre-
quent, and shorter, and less affectionate, especially after
the first few weeks : they came slower and slower, and
more terse and careless every time. But still, when I
omitted writing he complained of my neglect. When I
wrote sternly and coldly, as I confess I frequently did
at the last, he blamed my harshness, and said it was
enough to scare him from his home ; when I tried
mild persuasion, he was a little more gentle in his
replies, and promised to return ; but I had learnt, at
last, to disregard his promises.

pair, and indigna-

yet, through all, I was not wholly comfortless ; I had j
my darling, sinless, inoffensive little one to console me,
but even this consolation was embittered by the con- ;
stantly recurring thought, “ How shall I teach him
hereafter to respect his father, and yet to avoid his
example ? ”

But I remembered that I had brought all these
afflictions in a manner, wilfully, upon myself; and I
determined to bear them without a murmur. At the
same time I resolved not to give myself up to misery
for the transgressions of another, and endeavoured to
divert mvself as much as I could ; and besides the

. J i *i i i J

o

companionship of my child, and my dear, faithful

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

261

Rachel, who evidently guessed my sorrows and felt for
them, though she was too discreet to allude to them, —
I had my books and pencil, my domestic affairs, and the
welfare and comfort of Arthur’s poor tenants and
labourers to attend to ; and I sometimes sought and
obtained amusement in the company of my young friend
Esther Hargrave : occasionally I rode over to see her,
and once or twice I had her to spend the day with me
at the manor. Mrs Hargrave did not visit London
that season ; having no daughter to marry, she thought
c it as well to stay at home and economise ; and, for a
wonder, Walter came down to join her in the beginning
} of June and stayed till near the close of August.

J The first time I saw him was on a sweet, warm
evening, when I was sauntering in the park with little
Arthur and Rachel, who is head-nurse and lady’s-maid
in one — for, with my secluded life and tolerably active
habits, I require but little attendance, and as she had nursed
me and coveted to nurse my child, and was moreover
so very trustworthy, I preferred committing the im-
£ portant charge to her, with a young nursery-maid under
her directions, to engaging any one else : besides, it saves
money ; and since I have made acquaintance with
Arthur’s affairs, 1 have learnt to regard that as no
trifling recommendation ; for, by my own desire, nearly the
whole of the income of my fortune is devoted, for years
to come, to the paying off of his debts, and the money
he contrives to squander away in London is incompre-
hensible.— But to return to Mr Hargrave : — I was
standing with Rachel beside the water, amusing the
laughing baby in her arms with a twig of willow laden
with golden catkins, when, greatly to my surprise, he
entered the park, mounted on his costly black hunter,
and crossed over the grass to meet me. He saluted
me with a very fine compliment, delicately worded, and
modestly delivered withal, which he had doubtless con-

262

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

cocted as he rode along. He told me he had brought
a message from his mother, who, as he was riding that
way, had desired him to call at the manor and beg the
pleasure of my company to a friendly family dinner
to-morrow.

“ There is no one to meet but ourselves,” said he ;
u but Esther is very anxious to see you ; and my mother
fears you will feel solitary in this great house so much
alone, and wishes she could persuade you to give her
the pleasure of your company more frequently, and
make yourself at home in our more humble dwelling,
till Mr Huntingdon’s return shall render this a little
more conducive to your comfort.”

“ She is very kind,” I answered, “ but I am not
alone, you see ; — and those, whose time is fully occu-
pied, seldom complain of solitude.”

“ Will you not come to-morrow, then ? She will
be sadly disappointed if you refuse.”

1 did not relish being thus compassionated for my
loneliness ; but, however, I promised to come.

“What a sweet evening this is!” observed he,
looking round upon the sunny park, with its imposing
swell and slope, its placid water, and majestic clumps
of trees. “ And what a paradise you live in ! ”

“ It is a lovely evening,” answered I ; and I sighed
to think how little I had felt its loveliness, and how
little of a paradise sweet Grassdale was to me — how
still less to the voluntary exile from its scenes. Whether
Mr Hargrave divined my thoughts, I cannot tell, but
with a half-hesitating, sympathising seriousness of tone
and manner, he asked if I had lately heard from Mr
Huntingdon.

“ Not lately,” I replied.

“I thought not,” he muttered, as if to himself, look-
ing thoughtfully on the ground.

“ Are you not lately returned from London ? ” 1
asked.

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL. 263

“ Only yesterday.”

“ And did you see him there ? ”

“ Yes — I saw him.”

“ Was he well ? ”

“Yes — that is,” said he, with increasing hesitation
and an appearance of suppressed indignation, “ he was
as well as — as he deserved to be, but under circum-
stances I should have deemed incredible for a man so
favoured as he is.” He here looked up and pointed the
sentence with a serious bow to me. I suppose my face
was crimson.

“ Pardon me, Mrs Huntingdon,” he continued, “ but
I cannot suppress my indignation when I behold such
infatuated blindness and perversion of taste ; — but, per-
haps you are not aware ” He paused.

“ I am aware of nothing, sir — except that he delays
his coming longer than I expected ; and if, at present,
he prefers the society of his friends to that of his wife,
and the dissipations of the town to the quiet of country
life, I suppose I have those friends to thank for it.

3 Their tastes and occupations are similar to his, and I
don’t see why his conduct should awaken either their
indignation or surprise.”

“ You wrong me cruelly,” answered he. “ I have
shared but little of Mr Huntingdon’s society for the
last few weeks ; and as for his tastes and occupations,
they are quite beyond me — lonely wanderer as I am.
Where I have but sipped and tasted, he drains the cup
to the dregs ; and if ever for a moment I have sought
to drown the voice of reflection in madness and folly,
or if I have wasted too much of my time and talents
among reckless and dissipated companions, God knows
I would gladly renounce them entirely and for ever, if
I had but half the blessings that man so thanklessly casts
behind his back— but half the inducements to virtue and
domestic orderly habits that he despises — but such a

264 THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

home, and such a partner to share it ! It is infamous ! ”
he muttered, between his teeth. “ And don’t think,
Mrs Huntingdon,” he added aloud, “that I could be
guilty of inciting him to persevere in his present pur-
suits : on the contrary, I have remonstrated with him*
again and again, I have frequently expressed my surprise
at his conduct, and reminded him of his duties and his

privileges — but to no purpose ; he only ”

“ Enough, Mr Hargrave ; you ought to be aware
that whatever my husband’s faults may be, it can only
aggravate the evil for me to hear them from a stranger’s
lips.”

“ Am I then a stranger ? ” said he in a sorrowful
tone. “ I am your nearest neighbour, your son’s god-
father, and your husband’s friend ; may I not be yours
also?”

“ Intimate acquaintance must precede real friend-
ship ; I know but little of you, Mr Hargrave, except
from report.”

“ Have you then forgotten the six or seven weeks I
spent under your roof last autumn ? I have not for-
gotten them. And I know enough of you, Mrs
Huntingdon, to think that your husband is the most
enviable man in the world, and I should be the next il
you would deem me worthy of your friendship.”

“ If you knew more of me, you would not think it,
or if you did you would not say it, and expect me to
be flattered by the compliment.”

I stepped backward as I spoke. He saw that I
wished the conversation to end ; and immediately taking
the hint, he gravely bowed, wished me good evening,
and turned his horse towards the road. He appeared
grieved and hurt at my unkind reception of his sympa
thising overtures. I was not sure that I had done righi
in speaking so harshly to him ; but at the time, I had
felt irritated — almost insulted by his conduct ; it seemed

THE TENANT OF WILD FELL HALL. 265

at if he was presuming upon the absence and neglect of
my husband, and insinuating even more than the truth
against him.

Rachel had moved on, during our conversation, to
some yards’ distance. He rode up to her, and asked
to see the child. He took it carefully into his arms,
looked upon it with an almost paternal smile, and I
heard him say, as I approached —

“ And this, too, he has forsaken ! ”

He then tenderly kissed it, and restored it to the
gratified nurse.

“ Are you fond of children, Mr Hargrave ? ” said I,
a little softened towards him.

“ Not in general,” he replied, “ but that is such a
sweet child, and so like its mother,” he added in a
lower tone.

“ You are mistaken there ; it is its father it
resembles.”

“ Am I not right, nurse ? ” said he, appealing to
Rachel.

“ I think, sir, there’s a bit of both,” she replied.

He departed ; and Rachel pronounced him a very
nice gentleman. I had still my doubts on the subject.

In the course of the following six weeks, I met him
several times, but always, save once, in company with
his mother, or his sister, or both. When I called on
them, he always happened to be at home, and, when they
called on me, it was always he that drove them over in
the phaeton. His mother, evidently, was quite de-
lighted with his dutiful attentions, and newly-acquired
domestic habits.

The time that I met him alone was on a bright, but
not oppressively hot, day, in the beginning of July : I
had taken little Arthur into the wood that skirts the
park, and there seated him on the moss-cushioned roots
of an old oak ; and, having gathered a handful of

2 66

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

bluebells and wild roses, I was kneeling before him,
and presenting them, one by one, to the grasp of his
tiny fingers ; enjoying the heavenly beauty of the
flowers, through the medium of his smiling eyes ; for-
getting, for the moment, all my cares, laughing at his*
gleeful laughter, and delighting myself with his delight,
— when a shadow suddenly eclipsed the little space of
sunshine on the grass before us ; and looking up, I
beheld Walter Hargrave standing and gazing upon us.

“ Excuse me, Mrs Huntingdon,” said he, “ but I
was spellbound ; I had neither the power to come for-
ward, and interrupt you, nor to withdraw from the
contemplation of such a scene. How vigorous my
little godson grows ! and how merry he is this morn-
ing! ” He approached the child, and stooped to |
take his hand ; but, on seeing that his caresses were
likely to produce tears and lamentations, instead of a
reciprocation of friendly demonstrations, he prudently
drew back.

“ What a pleasure and comfort that little creature
must be to you, Mrs Huntingdon ! ” he observed, with
a touch of sadness in his intonation, as he admiringly
contemplated the infant.

“ It is,” replied I ; and then I asked after his
mother and sister.

He politely answered my inquiries, and then re-
turned again to the subject I wished to avoid ; though
with a degree of timidity that witnessed his fear to
offend.

“ You have not heard from Huntingdon lately ? ” he
said.

“ Not this week,” I replied. Not this three weeks,

I might have said.

“ I had a letter from him this morning. I wish it
were such a one as I could show to his lady.” He
half drew from his waistcoat pocket a letter with

THE TENANT OF WILDFELL HALL.

267

Tthur’s still-beloved hand on the address, scowled at
and put it back again, adding — “ But he tells me he
about to return next week.”

“ He tells me so every time he writes.”

' “ Indeed! — Well, it is like him. But to me he
ways avowed it his intention to stay till the present
with”

It struck me like a blow, this proof of premeditated
msgression and systematic disregard of truth.

“ It is only of a piece with the rest of his conduct,”
‘•served Mr Hargrave, thoughtfully regarding me, and
ading, I suppose, my feelings in my face.

“ Then he is really coming next week ? ” said I,
ter a pause.

“ You may rely upon it, if the assurance can give you
y pleasure. And is it possible, Mrs Huntingdon,
; at you can rejoice at his return ? ” he exclaimed,
tentively perusing my features again.

“ Of course, Mr Hargrave; is he not my husband? ”
“ Oh, Huntingdon ; you know not what you
ght ! ” he passionately murmured.

I took up my baby, and, wishing him good morning,
‘parted to indulge my thoughts unscrutinised, within
e sanctum of my home.

And was I glad? Yes, delighted; though I was
igered by Arthur’s conduct, and though I felt that
.» had wronged me, and was determined he should feel
too.

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